Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

T-minus to D-Day, a.k.a the dreadful college drop-off, has officially commenced. The date has been circled in my calendar all summer with anticipation. My peeps dutifully and not so eloquently warn me; that letting go sucks and walking away blows. So, of course, I brace myself for the worse, for sorrow to swallow me whole—yet it doesn’t.

To my delight, I am giddy with excitement, my dimples on full display, itching to share; hey, world, want to know why I am walking on clouds? Yep, the axis in my world is tilting, and I am over the moon—supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!

Guilt strikes; what is wrong with me? Where is the pile of tissues? I am a horrible mom; WTF, Mic? Fortunately, the trash self-talk only lasts a hot minute. B.S. I am entitled to celebrate, tequila, anyone?

Pause & Reflect

I pause to consider my girlfriends on the struggle bus, staggering to keep it together. Surely, they have earned the right to be sad, shed a tear, and feel lopsided. After all, eighteen years is not nothing. Aren’t they entitled to mourn the ending of a beautiful chapter?

Ah, of course. Maybe it is not one or the other; to fly the nest is similar to a rollercoaster filled with inclines and descents, both thrilling and daunting.

All Of It

I say feel it ALL, mamas. The assortment of tears—happy, sad, bittersweet, and blubbering. The pulses of the heart –the broken and swells of joy alike. And wrap ’em ALL with hopes and dreams for your babies.

Flashback

I close my eyes and search my memory bank for our first moment; the nurse lays him on my chest, skin-to-skin, snuggled with tenderness against my beating heart, inhaling the deliciousness of his being, forever bond; oh, my, I love you so.    

My Nest

The bittersweetness of this moment is revealed by my urge to nest. My dining room resembles a bodega filled with essentials for University life. I have purchased enough Claritin and DayQuil to medicate a small African village. My hubby holds the Clorox wipes, ‘Is this for OUR son? and gives me a look, you know, the look that screams, you have lost your mind! ‘he won’t use any of this.’ He might, I answer, knowing he won’t. He shakes his head, ‘they have stores in Ann Arbor.’ Whatever, I yell back, getting the last word. It bugs me that he’s right. Still, I find comfort in my stockpile and return to folding the extra set of sheets.

Then It Happens

Loading the truck with neatly packed IKEA bags, my mama’s words ring in my ears, ‘They are on borrowed time,’ dagger in heart, the gnawing, there it is. Whoa, whoa, whoa, pump the breaks. That’s it, that’s a wrap? Noooo…I’m not ready.

I watch him toss a beam bag onto the truck. He glances over and gives me his signature crooked smile, his dimples in full display. Then it happens: It’s time; he’s ready. 

Lift Off

We have lift-off! A new world awaits. Strangers will become lifelong friends; shenanigans will forever be ‘remember when’ laugh-out-loud memories. He will undoubtedly fall in and out of love, make dumb decisions, and figure a way to dig himself out. Best of all, he will discover the depth of his voice and become all he is meant to be. Exhilaration fills me again; boy,  I love you so. 

Roots and Wings,

Mic