My first baby turns 17 today. It doesn’t seem possible that seventeen years have already passed. I’m dreading the fact that in less than two years he’ll be moving out of the home we’ve lived in since he was born and starting life on his own. It doesn’t seem fair that we only get 18 years before they’re off and running, learning how to survive in the real world without us. The time goes too fast. I’m not ready for this. I guess none of us parents are, really.
I’m doing what I imagine any mom of a high school junior is doing these days: trying to soak it all in. I find I’m already sad at the fact that he doesn’t have much time left at home. I think he is too, but his coping mechanism is using humor to deflect his feelings, joking about how “You know, Mom, I only have less than two more years,” which breaks my heart a little bit every time I hear it.
And so I find ways to make sure I get to wrap my arms around him at least once a day, usually either before he heads out to his car on the way to school in the morning, or at night after he gets home from a long crew practice. It amazes me how he towers over me, his chin on the top of my head as I lean in for the elusive hug. This human I grew in my belly is all of a sudden six feet tall and muscular.
His determination to succeed is going to take him far in life. He is a hard-worker and when he doesn’t know something, he does everything he can to figure it out on his own. He’s a natural leader, leading by quiet example, praised by his swim and crew coaches for his motivation, dedication and work ethic. His grades reflect his commitment to excellence. He’s the type of kid who if given the choice between the Friday night football game and studying for an upcoming test, he’d likely choose to study. His sister is pushing him to invest in his social life by encouraging him to get to more games. It seems to be working as they went together this past Friday and had a great time with their friends.
He’s a homebody, which makes me nervous for when he goes off to college. I worry about the homesickness he may experience, as I remember how hard it hit me when I was 18 and a freshman all alone in a new place and far away from home. I wonder if we’ve prepared him enough for this new chapter of his life. I guess that’s what this time is for. This time when you realize that you don’t have much time left before they go so you try to cram all the life lessons you can into the last year or two before they take off.
On this, his 17th birthday, I hope he knows how proud we are of the man he’s become. How no matter what, we’ll always be here for him. And how much we love him with all our hearts.
Happy Birthday, Owen. I love you, bud.