The Boy

The Boy moved out. I knew the day would come when it would be time to push him from the nest... But I can't deny that I may not have been entirely ready. In some ways it really isn't that strange to have him out of the house. After all, he has spent summers and holidays away with my ex-husband for years. But there is something more permanent about his absence this time.

I worry about whether or not he is taking care of himself. I wonder if he's eating. I hope he isn't living on mac-and-cheese alone. I feel distress over the fact that I can't log into Power School to make sure he's staying on top of his assignments. I hope he's making friends. I hope I would approve of his new friends. I pray that he's making wise choices...

I'm not sure if having a child become an adult is harder for the child or the parent. The Boy certainly seems to be taking it in stride. I, however, worry. I worry a lot. Does the worrying become bearable or do you just get over it at some point?

Although The Boy has a bed in an apartment full of strangers, we do still spend time together. I meet him at the grocery store to help him restock (yes, mostly with mac-and-cheese). And he's been known to stop in at dinner time if I've mentioned a favorite dish. But there will never again be a time when he is completely dependent upon me. I know it's a good thing, but I'm still feeling the growing pains.