Listen, parenting is stupid.
You spend years pouring everything you have into these humans, and then, when you finally feel like you might have a handle on it all, you just turn them loose.
You don’t see them for months at a time.
You don’t know if they are eating.
If they‘ve made friends.
If they are happy, because sometimes, at best, all you are gonna get is a “Good,” when you finally break and text them to ask how it’s going.
And, yes, blah, blah, blah, that’s the goal. Raise them well and then give them wings to fly, and all that BS, but dudes, I’m here to tell you…this parenting gig of older kids is for the birds,
In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, we just dropped Baby Monkey off at college. In Ohio. And we live in NJ.
People say things like “Well, now that Monkey Girl graduated, she’s home, so it’s like a swap,”
Or, “At least Tiny is still home,”
And, “You can still take a short drive to see Monkey in the Middle whenever you want,”
They are well-meaning and sweet, which is appreciated.
But kids aren’t substituted for each other. There hasn’t been a Baby Monkey/Monkey Girl swap. Being able to drive about an hour to visit Monkey in the Middle at school doesn’t ease the ache of needing to drive almost 7 hours to see Baby Monkey.
There are different things you miss about each child, and now it is stupidly, Baby Monkey’s chance to fly.
He’s fine. We moved him in and then dropped him at the music building for his first rehearsal, and after hugs, he marched forward with nary a backward glance. We’ve heard from him once or twice, but no news is good news, and he’s good.
He’s ready.
It’s just me who is struggling.
Again.
People ask if it gets easier with each child.
It doesn’t.
With Monkey Girl, I sobbed like someone had died in the car, until I realized how ridiculous I was being, and then started laughing, Then back to crying,
When we dropped off Monkey in the Middle, three years later, I thought, “I’ve done this dance. I’m cool, I’m cool.”
I was not, in fact, anything close to cool.
And two years later, here we are, and third time is not the charm.
Just like the first two times, it started a few months ago, when I would, one by one, realize the things that would be different.
Most recently, a few nights ago, while making the grocery list for the week, I started crying because I don’t need to buy grapes anymore because Baby Monkey is the grape eater in the house. And I almost started to cry, in the store, when I realized I didn’t need to buy an extra seventy pounds of pasta, because that is Baby Monkey’s “snack” after school each day.
So, it’s this missing of each, specific child, that is hard, every time.
No substitutions.
And it will be fine.
School will start and I’ll get back into the routine of the rat race, and I won’t be looking at the empty spaces that he used to occupy as often. And the ache does ease as time goes by, but the missing never does.
it’s good practice, I guess, for when they eventually move out for good and aren’t coming home on breaks and holidays and seeing the “kids” is an occasion, instead of a given.
But this is where I am now, and I’m not a fan.
