As I pack and prepare to launch my 18 year old baby chick, my youngest child, off to college, I am forced to ponder what my “new normal” will be.
What will it be like not having her flip flops scattered all over the house? No eye rolls, no waiting up for her as my imagination wreaks havoc on every possible worse case scenario? Ironically, I will probably miss those annoyances out of sheer habit, or maybe I’ll just miss my maternal need to be needed. But mostly, I wonder what it will be like without my TV pal. Not having the comfort of her mere presence here, home, in the nest.
Since the day I dropped her off at kindergarten, I have been searching for the brakes to slow down this process, this growing up and moving on. Unfortunately, there are no brakes and I am being forced to free fall into this next chapter. The only choice I have is how I respond to it – I can fall into it screaming cussing and crying or try my best to embrace the adventure that lies ahead for both of us. That’s not to say I won’t shed tears or have moments of sorrow, but it will be exciting to see where she lands after taking flight… and where I land, too.
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