Sixteen years ago I was laying in the hospital, looking at this squirming, squalling baby waiting for nourishment and touch and all I could think was - I am not ready for this. I am terrible at committment - I have great plans, even good starts, but I don't finish. This wasn't something I could set down and look at, contemplate finishing, and never get back to. What, I wondered, have I done?
He was a good baby. He wasn't much of a crier - except the night he was cutting molars. Even when he was three months old and sick enough to be hospitalized - he didn't cry much. I looked at him in his hospital bed - oxygen in the nose, IVs in his arm, heart monitars on his chest, and I thought, I am not ready for this. He was helpless and I was helpless to help him. He went into respritory distress twice. It was that nightmare come true.
We both lived through it and he thrived.
Seasons came and went and me, an at home mom, devoted myself to him. Then, it was time for Headstart - and I thought to myself - I am not ready for this! He's a baby! What if he needs me and he cries all day? Well, he did cry all day - and just about everyday after that and into Kindergarten. But, he lived, and so did I. Frankly I revelled in my new found freedom. Even got a job! I was pretty comfortable with him in his controlled environment. Then sports started. He played t-ball then real baseball. "You can pick him up in about 2 hours" his coach told me. I looked around. Three men a and about 15 6- and 7- year olds. Was he kidding me? I was not ready for that. The road was a good 200 yards away, the highway on the other side of the field was just right over there. Leave him alone? He could run into traffic, get hit by a fly ball or a bat! But, I left. I had too - he the kid told me to in that 6 year old language of running off without looking back.
He traversed into tackle football, Jr. High and High School - and each time I was not ready. I feel so close to him. I don't want him hurt.
Today - he has turned 16. I really am not ready. I tease him. You know, I tell him, when you graduate and turn 18, you're out of here! You'll cry when I move, he tells me. And I will. I cry now which each big and small milestone. This year as I filled out the order form for his school pictures, it dawned on me - this is the last pack of these I'll buy. The next time around it will be senior photos. And the rest is all coming - Proms, class ring, cap and gown, Pomp and Circumstance.
And I, once again, am not ready.