My Real Life

My monkeys are all on the cusp of new ages. February brings a change of age for all of them, and even though the big joke in our house is “Wanna see Mom cry? Talk about us growing up and leaving!” the “growing up” part is actually…well…growing on me.

Let me brag a little first, and then I’ll get to the point.

This month will see Monkey Girl turn 21 and in the beginning of the second half of her junior year in college. She’s almost done with her nursing program, working at a physical rehab facility and doing the job she was born to do. She’s the president of her sorority, she has good friends, and she’s happy. Not all the time, because she’s human, but she’s figured out how to “adult” and she’s doing pretty well at it.

Next week, Monkey Boy turns 18. We just had his Senior Night for his high school hockey team and he plays in his last high school games ever over the next week. He has a job and has applied to colleges and is making decisions that will follow him into adulthood. He has good, solid friends. He’s mature. He’s responsible. He’s growing into the man that I had always hoped that he would.

As of this blog post, Baby Monkey is now 16. He gets his permit next week and will start driving. Baby Monkey is 16. I needed to write it again because it’s still hard for me to grasp. The kid who made daily costumes for himself out of construction paper is 16. But while he’s no longer parading around Target in a Batman costume, he still remains true to himself. He never does something to follow the crowd. My quiet, sweet, hilarious boy has found his friends and is living his life, as always, on his terms.

And by the end of this month, Tiny will be 11. He wasn’t even a twinkle in my eye when I started this blog, and yet, here we are. Next year he will be in middle school, changing classes, using a locker, and changing for gym. He’s still the most sensitive of the monkeys, but man oh man, is this kid a love. He never wants to see someone with hurt feelings, tries to be kind whenever he can, and makes me want to wrap him in bubble wrap to protect him from a world that has shown him, on more than one occasion, that kindness isn’t always returned.

I used to really struggle with the monkeys getting older. I missed having babies in the house. Missed the innocence. Missed the firsts and dreaded the lasts. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not a big fan of the lasts, but I’m realizing that with lasts comes a different kind of firsts. Last day of high school leads to the first day of college or the first day of whatever path your child chooses to take. Last night in a dorm room leads to the first night in a new apartment. Last time I drive them somewhere leads to the first time they drive there all by themselves.

But there’s something else. And it’s something that is so good and so unexpected for me. And that is how much I enjoy hanging out with these monkeys as almost grown-ups. We have real conversations about things that don’t include cartoon characters or silly songs. It turns out, we all have the same sarcastic sense of humor, and we laugh together…a lot. We talk about world events, the books they are reading for school, sports. We have group text chats. They have different perspectives on some things than I do and I love hearing them explain how and why they came to their conclusions. I really like the people they have become.

Oh, and…

WE DON’T HAVE TO ACCOMPANY THEM TO THE BATHROOM.

Listen, I do sometimes long for those little faces, snuggling those little bodies, and hearing those little voices. But I’ve made my peace with the growing up because there’s joy to be found in this space, too.

The leaving? That’s one I’m still coming to terms with and think it will be awhile before I get there. I don’t love not seeing Monkey Girl for months at a time, and I’m not looking forward to Monkey Boy leaving in the fall. Even Monkey in the Middle is spending more time out of the house with marching band and jazz band and pit band and movies with his friends, etc, and I miss having him around. I miss them when they go away. A lot. I know, I know…it means I did my job and gave them wings to soar and blah blah blah blah blah, but I don’t like it.

Like I said, I’m not there yet with the leaving. And having Tiny means they aren’t all going right away anyhow.

But the growing up? It’s not so bad.