From Mama to Mom: Journey of a Boymom

When our oldest son turned five, my husband was depressed at the thought of our little boy growing so big.  He resisted that birthday more than any other we’ve experienced.  At the time, it didn’t seem to me like that big of a deal.  We still had lots of babies underfoot and I felt like five was still so young.  But I think my husband saw down a road I was too distracted or too afraid to look.  He saw our babies growing up and growing independent and it broke his heart just a bit.

We have the unique privilege of having sons separated by 13 years: one graduating high school and one in pre-school. The contrast makes it all the more obvious of the transition from boy to man.  For the child, it happens gradual enough to never realize the change. Memories of childhood slip into the recesses of his mind and new experiences consume his energy and time.  And it happens gradually for the moms and dads as well.  The language, physical closeness, and neediness change ever so slightly from day to day and then one day you can’t remember the last time he called you “Mama”.

But since I still have one who calls me Mama, I remember when my oldest son did too.  I recall the books, snuggles, games and dance parties.  I went from being his world to being his mom.  I know it’s still a place of honor, but it’s not the same.   

I recognize it would be weird, if I was still his world. My senior boy is discovering the world outside of the security of home.  It’s scary and a little sad, but it is the goal of parenting: independence.  My four year old covers me with smooches and clings to me like a shadow.  My face is the one he searches for in a crowd, his favorite person in the world. His safety, comfort, and fun are firmly within my hands and his little hand is never far from mine. 

Honestly, that’s the way I like it.  Maybe that’s why we have seven children.  I selfishly never wanted them to grow up, and yet they did.  One by one they slipped away from my side and began to find their place in this world.  Today it’s not too far from me, but now I see where this journey ends. 

One day the spot next to me in my bed, where a small boy always crawled in, in the middle of the night, will lay cold. One day the word “Mama” will be a word from my past.  One day Legos will not be mixed in with soccer socks in the laundry and we will have grass in our back yard instead of dirt.  One day I will have plenty of time to myself, to sit and listen to the quiet that rarely exists now.  And oh, how I will cry.  Hot, heavy tears of sadness will spill over those losses.

They may not seem like losses, and I admit some days I might long for them.  The neediness of littles, the messes, noise, dirt and squabbling, it’s a lot. I don’t always cherish it but I should because it’s the chaos that comes from raising sons. It’s a beautiful crazy, not always neatly wrapped but so very fulfilling.  To see a boy become a man whom you adore and respect and actually really like, it’s a dream come true.  

I heard an interview not long ago by Mia Freedman and Australian writer.  Here is a quote from it:

You never get to properly say goodbye to all the little people who grow up because you don’t notice the growing, the changing. Except when Facebook sends you those bloody memory reminders that invariably make me cry because it’s like showing me the face of someone I can never see again. Not in that way. Not at that age. 

She says that “Your son growing up will feel like the slowest breakup you’ve ever known.”  That resonates with me because I still feel the same way I did about him when they put him in my arms 17 years ago: absolutely smitten.  Parenting gives the word “love” new meaning and you feel that your heart could literally burst with it.  A piece of you belongs to this small wonder, a piece you will never get back.

Over the years, my feelings have only grown with him.  I’m still smitten.  But naturally, the feelings aren’t mutual.  Don’t get me wrong, he’s perfect; respectful and loving.  But I’m not the first person he’d look for in a crowd anymore. I’m no longer his favorite human. It’s the natural path the boy mom takes and I’m learning to make my peace with it.

Having him was my dream come true and now we are focusing on his dreams.  I’m on the sidelines, but my job is still important.  Cheerleader, prayer warrior, encourager, supporter!  My job is not over, it’s just different.

They say the two greatest gifts you can give your child are roots and wings.  I pray all my children have strong, deep roots.  I hope they truly know the One who loves them best and that their faith is strong enough to withstand the winds of this culture. I hope they know that their family will stand beside them no matter what this world throws at them.  I hope they have warm memories of comfort, love and fun.  Oh, how I hope their roots are well planted. 

The wings are harder to hope for because they take them away from me. It’s a choice to see wings as a gift, but I will try.  Because with these beautiful wings they will discover their place in this world, which so desperately needs the gifts they carry with them. And so to my firstborn son, I pray that your wings will take you to all the places that God has prepared for you. We are so proud of the man you are becoming!  Humble and kind, Baby! And always remember the way back home to those who love you most!