In the Fetal Position . . .

My Little Whackjobs and Me, Many Moons Ago. Pre-Fetal Position

I just got rat tailed by my apron strings. And baby its a sting that's going to last at least 18 months. I've got a child leaving today for distant shores to serve humanity and see the world and do a whole lot of growing up that I won't be there for. Well, technically this daughterlette doesn't need to do a whole lot of growing up, as she is legally an adult these days. Nevertheless, I have lost my power to suggest, to guide, to gently prod, and to flat out nag. For she will not be nearby to hear me. 

In addition to this, I've watched my beautiful girl blossom away from me in a manner that has sent tremors into my heart. I thought we'd already done this. I mean, she's been away at college for the past two and a half years. But it turns out that when college is just a few towns over, your kid can be living in their own apartment and still feel like they're living at home. They just have really long work hours.

For two and a half years I've been able to take her "OMIGOSH-I'm-Going-To-Fail-This-Class" phone calls, and the "My-Roommate-Does-Dishes-Differently-Than-I-Do" phone calls, and the "How-Do-You-Get-Grape-Juice-Out-Of-Carpet" phone calls, and most important, the "Boys-Are-Dorks" and "Mom-I'm-Sick" rescue missions.

I don't get to do those any more. 

And I'm probably going to go permanent fetal position. Because I know that after this grand world experience of hers, things between this child of my stretch marks heart and me are never quite going to be the same. I don't think she's the only one on this path either. I think at some point ALL of my little people are going to head down the road that leads away from me. And I'll be dragging along behind them trying to duck tape those stinking apron strings back on.

But . . . it ain't gonna work, is it? I actually have to accept this rite of passage, even though everything inside of me is screaming that MY CHILDREN NEED ME. Who the heck else is going to know how to make their homemade chunky spicy applesauce? Or which socks belong to which kid because I cleverly got them all the same design and color? Who will sense when they need to sit down with me and watch the latest Sherlock episode because their life has gotten too stressful? Who will figure out when to say something and when to hold back? (No I mean that one. Because I haven't figured it out yet.) But most of all, WHO WILL MAKE THEIR FAVORITE CARAMEL FRENCH TOAST ON CHRISTMAS MORNING AND SPECIAL OCCASIONS IF I'M. NOT. THERE? WHOOOOOOOOO?

Okay fine. Breathe. In. Out. In. Maybe my kids will do it themselves. And maybe my role will morph a bit. But I'm still mom, right? And I've got their email addresses and have figured out how to use Skype. They'll always need to talk with me, right? So it's all good. I can breathe. It is a normal part of development for a child to DESTROY THE APRON STRINGS TO WITHIN AN INCH OF THEIR MOTHER'S LIFE. I'll be fine. And they will too. For reals.

But just in case? I'm totally holding their stuffed animals and naked baby pictures hostage.