Happy Birthday Kiddo
A look back at the last 18 years.
Today is his 18th birthday. I remember thinking, “We have a responsibility to get him to adulthood.” And, now that is technically here. Although, he’s not quite done yet. There is college. There is the matter of the grey matter still developing. There is the first job, the first… He’s not done yet. And we still have a responsibility.
Parenthood is a wild ride. It’s exhausting and exhilarating. It’s a piece of your heart walking around every day. It’s neutrality, and then, with a particular noise, you find yourself running down the stairs faster than you should be able to to ensure everyone is okay. Parenthood is… indescribable in many ways.
I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Though, some sacrifices are foisted upon us within the social contract we are born into. We are born into a racist and sexist world, and by default, I became the default parent. (The husband doesn’t read this, and he absolutely thinks he does his “fair share.” There are a lot of things we don’t agree on.)
As the default parent, I am the emergency contact; I know the schedule, the medicines, the doctor appointments, the sizes of clothes, and when the last time we bought shoes was. As the default parent, I manage the allowance and ensure the getting to school is done. In the last two years of school, the husband has been more available to pick him up from school, and he has his own grief about it being the last years.
As the default parent, I am the one who takes the child to the doctor’s appointments and the dentist and stays home when he’s sick. (That’s a little different now that my work is remote. When it wasn’t, I sacrificed a rare sick day, as in we didn’t have many sick days to spend. And, whenever I took leave, even if I showed up early, bosses would question my work ethic.)
Between you, me, and the fence post, I am now numb to all the time spent. The time lost and the career stifling because I could not take a full-time job lest care for my son be sacrificed, a sacrifice I was unwilling to make.
The child has only discussed wanting to study engineering. Now, this last year, he sees perhaps he should figure out a way to monetize video games (don’t they all think that?), and now we poke, prod, and nudge to get him to apply for those applications and now scholarships. We have achieved middle-class status, do not want loans, and government grants will be few and far between. (If there even is a FAFSA to contend with during an oligarchal government takeover.)
You parent the child you have. This child is caring, teasing, and clever. He is slow to make friends. He has his own mental health issues he will have to contend with. He gives great hugs, and he loves his family. He loves his parents, and he loves his extended family even though he only sees them but once a year. He can make people laugh with his silly sense of humor. And it’s been so fascinating watching him make sense of the world.
I pray he continues to come into his own. I pray the grey matter continues to develop, allows him to see nuance, allows him to see his place in the world, and I pray he has more motivation than just to play video games. There was a moment a few years ago when the justice side was peaking, but I fear it has recessed. And, that, too, makes me sad, as a mother.
Parenthood is not for the faint of heart, they say. And parenthood is never over. Cheers kiddo, we got you to 18. We’ll be by your side, but you must take the reigns and make this one precious life your own.