On Monday, my firstborn will enter high school as a freshman.
Wasn’t I just feeding him a bottle and putting him down for a nap?
Weren’t we just in the beginning stages of potty training?
Weren’t we just teaching him how to read a book and write his name?
Somewhere after July 17, 2008 time seemed to blur – that was the day the twins were born and life as I knew it before being a mom to one kiddo evaporated.
Within a few short hours, I went from devoting all of my time to one kid to sharing it between three.
What I would give to have a few moments left where I just had one child. That’s not to say I don’t love my other kids. I do. I just miss the one-on-one time spent between my firstborn and myself.
Sure, we make time to chat, but gone are the days when I was his world.
For more than five years, he was my everything.
He was my errand-runner, picnic-partner, pool-entertainment and my only son.
Then in one quick swoop, I had to share my time, energy and love.
Eight years seems to have gone by in eight seconds.
One day I was watching him get on the school bus at the end of our driveway, crying as the bus drove away. The next, I sat in the back of a classroom listening to all the required requirements for graduating from high school.
Excuse me. No. This cannot be happening! I refuse to believe I am old enough to have a freshman in high school. In my mind, I am still 25 years old. I don’t feel old enough to have a kid in high school.
But I do.
During orientation, I saw his name on the PowerPoint presentation as class treasurer. At varsity soccer games, his name is announced over the loudspeaker as goalkeeper.
I am just a sideline spectator now – watching with baited breath that he makes the right decisions and chooses the right path in life.
And while I am not 100 percent OK with that status, I accept it because after all I was a high school freshman once – 24 years ago – and I’m pretty sure my parents felt the same way.