My 13-year old crushed me in my first ever swim event this summer. I say event because race would conjure up images that do not reflect the 4th of July bobbing I did in the open waters of ChurchPine Lake. This comes after he stuffed me during a mother son game of streetball and ran a mile for fun in half the time it takes me.
Logically this makes sense. Despite being competitive, mindset only carries this plus-size 48-year old body so far. It tracks that my extremely active, physically fit son can outrun – swim – and jump me. That his reflexes are quicker and his ability to rebound from any sort of physical activity faster. It also doesn’t make it any less bittersweet.
As my tween became a teen this summer, bittersweet has become a common theme of parenting. A series of turning points where loud and proud mama moments are quietly replaced with a somber sadness of being irrelevant. What surprises me most is how ordinary the moments are when the shift happens. It’s not the big milestones that catch in my throat, but the small ones.
The transition started out subtle. That first scoot on the floor where he got a taste of independence which quickly turns into running from me, yet always looking back to make sure I am following. Soon, he doesn’t look back at all. I distinctly remember those days from my youth – that transition where I was far from adulthood but longing for independence. And then suddenly having it at 18 when my mom died.
It was about this time I got pulled over in Floodwood on my way back to college for having a Buzz Lightyear figuring hanging from my rearview mirror. It was 1996 and Toy Story was all the rage. A dear friend gifted me Buzz to remind me I had support during this transition – and for years Buzz proudly hung in my red Chevrolet Cavalier as a reminder that I was never alone.
Now, 30-years later, a Toy Story 5 meme scrolls by on social media that hits extra hard. “Somewhere along the way we stopped being the kid in Andy’s room and became the mom standing in the doorway.”
For years, being a mom is all I wanted. Now, 13+ years into it, it has become the highlight of my life. He has become the greatest contribution I’ll make. And don’t get me wrong, I know there’s a bond that cannot be broken. At the core, I know my kid still needs me. Afterall, he cannot drive, and his concept of an ATM is asking me for money. But, the trajectory remains. Parenting, I’m learning, is just a long string of bittersweet moments stitched together. Each one nudges me a little farther from who he was and closer to who he is becoming. A full-circle journey that starts with them needing you for everything and ends with you cheering from the sidelines as they outgrow, outrun, and outpace you in all the ways you once hoped they would. The ache and the pride arrive hand in hand, reminding me that this was always the goal. How lucky am I to be raising a kid confident enough to race ahead, even if I’m left bobbing in the wake.