Twenty-three years ago, in the middle of a thunderstorm, I gave birth to a chubby 9lbs 11oz baby who looked remarkably like Winston Churchill. I resisted a sudden urge to name him Winston (probably for the best) and named him Colin. Time went on, as it does, and he grew and continued to grow quite a bit beyond what I thought was necessary. He thought his height was great and proceeded to call me his “pocket sized Mom”.
When you get right down to it you go into the hospital and, after a lot of pushing and pain, you’re handed a baby. There’s all sorts of advice for what to do when they’re babies and toddlers and when they’re talking back in elementary school but a dearth of information on what happens once those babies are gone and moved out. I think today, going to Colin’s place, it really hit me that my children, the skippers on sidewalks and hunters of ladybugs, have well and truly left the nest and built homes of their owns. I’m so happy for them but I hope I’ll still have family dinners and visits for years to come.
Today was the first day visiting Colin at his new place, which is right out in the middle of nowhere, a very lovely nowhere by the way, I love what they did with the place. Colin was happy to see us and thoroughly enjoyed his lunch and his presents. As always, it was over too quickly but hopefully we can stay longer next time.