I never envisioned myself as the type of mother who mourns each fleeting phase of childhood. The one who gets sentimental over every milestone or turns into a teary-eyed mess at preschool graduations? That’s not me.
Yet, no one prepared me for the series of small goodbyes that accompany parenting.
It was a bright, sunny day in Hilton Head, South Carolina, when my family and I set off for the beach, with little Max riding in his Radio Flyer. We looked like a perfectly curated Instagram post.
Upon arrival, I unfastened Max from his wagon and lifted him up, but in that idyllic moment, he wriggled free and leaned away from me.
“No!” he protested.
Confused, I tried again to pick him up.
“No!” he squirmed, pushing my hands away. “Get down!”
I placed him on the sand and extended my finger for him to hold. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to be carried.
“No, mama!” Max exclaimed, turning to his father. He walked away, grasped my husband’s hand, and turned back to wave, saying, “Bye-bye.”
In that moment, my heart sank. He wanted to be with his dad, and while it was undeniably sweet, it stung nonetheless.
It was a familiar ache, reminiscent of past heartbreaks—the sudden distance, the dismissal. This was the first time I truly felt the sting of rejection from my child.
Hello, Breakup. It seems we meet again.
I waved goodbye to my boys and sat on a towel, pretending to read a magazine. I adjusted my sunglasses to hide my tears, reminding myself that I wasn’t that mom who breaks down.
As my husband and son splashed in the waves, collecting shells and enjoying the sun, my mind wandered. I could foresee a future filled with these small separations—every little moment leading toward independence.
I envisioned Max dismissing me at the bus stop. “Mom, I know where to go. Can you just stay here?”
I saw him choosing his own clothes—a ninja turtle t-shirt and mismatched socks. “Mom, I can dress myself. I don’t need your help anymore, okay?”
I pictured a despondent Max on the ride home from a middle school game. “Mom, could you not cheer so loudly? The other guys make fun of me.”
From first cars to first dates, and ultimately high school graduation, I could see it all unfold. A college sticker adorning a trunk packed with jeans and sneakers. “Don’t worry, mom. I’ll be home for Christmas.” I could almost feel the weight of that little wave goodbye.
Now, I understand that parenting is essentially a series of moments where we nurture our children to eventually let them go. It’s perhaps a small mercy that these goodbyes don’t happen all at once; I’m not sure my heart could bear it.
Every mother hopes her child finds joy, grows in confidence, and leads an independent life. But that doesn’t lessen the emotional toll of this journey.
Max will never need me as much as he did on the day he was born. Yet, with each passing day, I know he will need me a little less. Between now and the day he fully matures, there will be countless tiny breakups.
I realize now that it’s okay to embrace this sadness. Maybe I am “that mom” after all, and yes, this childhood experience is speeding by far too quickly.
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In conclusion, motherhood is a beautiful yet bittersweet experience filled with countless moments of growth and letting go.
Keyphrase: motherhood and small goodbyes
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