When my girls were little, we went to story hour at our local library once a week. Miss Dawn would patiently read award winning children’s books to a room full of toddlers who weren’t so much acknowledging her presence as they were busy spinning in circles until they fell down.

We frequently went to the park, often meeting up with friends. The girls would play and I would sit next to a fellow mom on the park bench, trying to hide the fact that I was desperate for adult interaction. We engaged in conversation while I also tried to keep one eye on the playground and be on guard for kidnappers. Yes, I am that mom.

I attended many field trips. My girls were happy to have me come along, often asking if I was chaperoning and squealing with delight when I confirmed that it was true.

We had movie nights, girls’ trips, and backyard picnics.

As a parent, I’ve been through a lot of phases and many seasons of change. There are so many moments I’d give anything to go back to, just for a little while. 

But this new phase? The one where you look over and your kid is an actual adult human? It’s pretty heavy. Not gonna lie. I don’t really know what to do with it, if I’m being honest.

Long before I was prepared, a subtle shift happened in the dynamics of our parent-child relationship. I’m barely keeping my head above water in this new ocean of change, but I also kind of love it. Is that weird? 

Deeply feeling these range of emotions is definitely one of the weirdest things I’ll ever do.

I can’t quite put my finger on when the shift actually starts to happen. I think maybe it kind of starts when they get their driver’s license? Or as they make silent eye contact with their sibling when I ask if there’s a parent section at the high school football game.

It’s not that they don’t love you, or even that they don’t enjoy being around you. (Well, at least sometimes). But the terms and conditions have changed. And I quickly realized I never got a chance to review the contract before signing.

It’s tricky business raising kids to grow up and leave.

My daughter and I have been on several college tours. She’s seriously considering attending college out-of-state and I’m seriously considering buying a second home to avoid out-of-state tuition. 

Some of the schools were driveable. We’ve set off on multiple road trips and I loved every second. I really did. One of the schools required a flight. And while it was a short flight, we still navigated airport security and waited to board and waited to deplane and waited for an Uber. It was weird to imagine her making one of those journeys by herself one day soon.

I actually really enjoyed those college tours. When reality hits that your kid is leaving home, it really helps to check out a school in person. It just gives you that mental picture you desperately long for as you prepare to send your kid to live somewhere different for the next several years of their life. 

Walking along sidewalks lined with buildings that have seen the century mark is always exciting to me. I wonder about the thousands of young people who have walked those same paths. I think about the minds that have grown and expanded within the walls of those buildings. I imagine their parents, so many who have paved the way as they faithfully released their child into the world.

I’m just kidding. I actually just wonder about the other kids who go there and if they’re nice and if the food is decent and will she need a bigger winter coat.

Imagining my children leaving home is one of the most unnatural feelings in the world to me. To imagine my baby – the one whose diapers I changed, whose barf I cleaned, whose attitude I have called out and whose faith I have prayed over – and then just willingly and deliberately send her off into the great big world is something I’m not sure I’ll get used to anytime soon.

It’s counterintuitive, really. I’ve spent nearly two decades managing and overseeing every event, decision, and facet of her life. I spent years obsessing over stranger danger and suddenly I’m going to send my child to a place where every person she encounters is a stranger? While I’m not there with her?! 

They really should go ahead and warn us about all of this in some sort of new-baby manual in the delivery room. I mean, just give us a heads up at least.

The hardest part is that every bit of fear that grips me is also followed by a wave of excitement for all that’s to come. 

But still, a tiny part of me would love to be sitting in front of Miss Dawn again, just one more time, with my toddler in my lap. With her head under my chin, I’d breathe in the scent of her baby shampoo and soak in that precious moment, and not think about how quickly it all goes.

Raising these kids is real tough on our hearts, mamas. But this phase of parenting young adults is just as precious, and it is the greatest privilege to watch who they’re becoming. Even when it hurts just a little.