I just dropped my 18 year old off at Red Robin so he could escort a young lady to dinner and a movie. We agreed on him being home by midnight thirty even though I have to work tomorrow. On the drive home I realized growing up is difficult. I think it is no matter what your age. He is just beginning to have real life experiences and I’m experiencing my first time with an 18 year old.
I am talking myself into sleeping tonight. I have to learn right? I can’t keep him tucked snuggly into his bed by 10 pm any longer. My heart aches for that, yet at the same time I’m ready for him to experience life on his own. There is war residing within me.
I remind myself he is a good young man, and I search for the hope that he will continue along that path even as he trips over his own speed bumps. I will always be there to help him up, brush off his dirty knees, kiss his cheek and encourage him to try again.
I find myself tired and wishing I had some other moms in my life that were experiencing the same changes, but I started young and most of my friends have little ones.
So now I’m picking myself up from the speed bump I just tripped over, brushing off my own knees, giving myself a hug, a kiss on the cheek and continuing on.