Rite of Passage

Toby got his driver’s license yesterday.  Today I am feeling like I aged overnight.  I don’t dare examine my hair too closely–I’m sure there’s more gray there than there was last week.

Parenting, it seems, is a long, slow process of letting go.  There have been milestones before:  the first night he slept in his own room, the first time he waved good-bye and walked happily away from me with a sitter, the first time we dropped him off at sleep-away camp.  I remember them all, vividly, and I try to treasure those moments, when they happen, for their beginnings, not just their endings.

I know that for a lot of moms, it’s the first day of kindergarten that seems like the real cutting of the cord.  Toby didn’t go to kindergarten–I homeschooled him through first grade–so I didn’t really have that poignant sense of babyhood ending. Besides, when he finally went to school, he escaped in the middle of that first day (no joke) and showed up at home.  Twice.  I was more stunned and frustrated than anything else.

Since I was a teenager, I’ve adopted a philosophy of thinking carefully about my decisions beforehand, but once I’ve made a decision, I try not to look back.  I don’t think regret is a helpful way to go through life.  I try to apply that mindset to my experience of parenting, as well.  I try to be present, to inhabit fully, each new stage of my children’s lives.  I try not to wish their ages away, but even more, I try not to live in my memories.  I don’t want to miss anything, so I remind myself often to be present in whatever phase they’re going through.  As a result, I’ve gotten my fill.  I loved babyhood, but I don’t need to go back.  My toddlers were adorable, but they were even better when they got a little older.  And I adore them now–I wouldn’t trade our laughter and silliness for anything.  I love the way their brains work, the way they’re becoming the adults they will one day be.

But this driver’s license?  This is a rite of passage I could do without.  I’m trying to see the upside–he can run errands for me, he can pick Delaney up from softball, he can go get his own fast food–but my usual glass-half-full optimism is failing me.  I hate this.  I’m terrified.  Yesterday, knowing he was out there without me–DRIVING ON THE ROAD–I thought I was going to die of fear.  This is my child we’re talking about, my baby.  I want to surround my minivan with a protective cushion; I want all those other drivers to know how precious he is, and be extra-careful near him.

I know other parents go through this, too, but really–is it this awful for everyone?

If I’m totally honest with myself (which makes me squirm), I can see beyond the rational fear (it is driving, after all–I’m right to be concerned about his safety–right?).  Underpinning my anxiety is maybe, perhaps, just a tiny bit of maternal over-protectiveness.  HE CAN LEAVE WITHOUT ME.  He can go out into the world, unsupervised, and I won’t be in charge.  For the first time, he’s really able to make his own decisions, use his own judgment–screw up without me right behind him fixing everything.

I’m still his mother, but my role in his life just changed.  For all intents and purposes, I have done my job, and it’s time for me to step back and let him find his own way.  That scares me even more than all the other cars on the road.

For the first time, really, I have to trust that my parenting for the last 16 years was good enough.  And I just don’t know if it was.