My firstborn has turned 18. A piece of my heart beats outside my body. | Opinion
Eighteen years is a long time, but it went by in the blink of an eye. I've done a few things right and a few things wrong. Incredibly, so far, I have few regrets.
On a cool day in March 18 years ago, after a full day of labor, I met one of my favorite people.
He was not even 7 pounds, with a head full of vibrant red hair. A piece of my heart started beating outside my body that day. I've never felt more joy and more vulnerable.
The boy still has a mop of red hair, which he refuses to cut, but now he's 6'4 and is a fully fledged adult.
Eighteen years is a long time, but it went by in the blink of an eye. I've done a few things right and a few things wrong. Incredibly, so far, I have few regrets. (Although he has three younger siblings, so there's still time.)
I parented with his 18th birthday in mind
While my son was still young, I stumbled upon a beautiful essay a mom wrote upon her son's 18th birthday. Whether she was feeling nostalgic or regretful, I'm not sure, but she said the time had gone so fast she wished she had more of it. She wished she could read one more book, finish one more puzzle, watch one more movie.
I took those sentiments literally. I vowed to parent my firstborn and his siblings in such a way that when they became adults I wouldn't wish I had done more things with them. Sure, I'd love to have more time, but I wouldn't look back and regret that I wasn't present and intentional.
In an era where women have thriving careers, and I surely love mine, I gave everything I had to being his mom first. That was and has remained my priority.
Psychologist and author Jordan Peterson frames it this way: "Your kids want to have the best relationship with you that they possibly could have. Like they're 100% on board with that idea. Way more than anyone you've ever met in your life. And that means you could have the best relationship with your children that you've ever had with anyone. That's what they offer you. And it's up to you to realize that."
I did realize it, and I not only did all of the basic things expected of a parent − providing for his needs and giving him unconditional love − but I tried to go the extra mile as much as possible.
When he was little, I relished homeschooling him. We often did read one more book and play at the park just a few more minutes, grabbing ice cream on the way home, even if it interfered with dinner.
Every doctor's appointment became a chance for a quick lunch and a chat. Every time he sauntered downstairs, I grabbed a hug, even after he started to tower over me, as he does now.
I paid for opportunities I couldn't afford if he really wanted to do them or I thought they were necessary for his growth. I went to every single football game, even though his team rarely won. I'm an early riser now, but I often stayed up late to make sure he gets home from work or from an outing with friends. Parents of teens know that late nights are often when they're the most open, talkative and vulnerable.
I did savor the everyday moments and remained present, but parenting him with the rear view in mind served me well. It pushed me beyond my own capacity so that he knew I was reliable and steady. It also let me just enjoy the person he was becoming: thoughtful, fun, hardworking and kind. He knows I didn't just love him. I like him, too.
Having a child magnified career debate
When I became unexpectedly pregnant at 24 with this redheaded boy, I cried. Not tears of joy, but of anxiety and fear. I had wanted to dedicate myself to a career in politics, but felt I couldn't afford and didn't want a caregiver to raise my son. So I made the choice to stay home with him (and later, his siblings). I homeschooled for several years and squeezed work into the corners of the day, rather than the other way around.
The pull between these two jobs − a career raising children and one in another discipline − has become a flashpoint in a now decades-old debate women continue to have. Many women are waiting longer to have kids now. Some choose not to at all, and others regret that choice.
Life is more expensive than ever. I can see why women feel they need to acquire more degrees − we now outpace men in acquiring academic credentials − and choose a lucrative career over staying home to raise a child.
But I don't regret my choice to have kids young and prioritize raising them. I chose to keep one foot in both worlds on purpose − career and motherhood − not just because it paid off for me in the long run, but because I needed the intellectual stimulation and financial security that work provided.
I also knew that when my firstborn became an adult, I'd regret it if my memories were full of work, travel and hefty paychecks rather than football games, shooting ranges and days at the lake. I made mistakes along the way, of course. My son probably would tell you what they are if you asked. But choosing to dive head first into parenthood isn't one of them.
The days are long and the years are short
My son's 18th birthday marks his own rite of passage, but also one for me. I've never been the mom of an adult before, let alone several teenagers at once.
God willing, my firstborn has a long, full life ahead of him, including his own career and family. But I built my life around him. Do I regret that now? Not for a second. I wouldn't have it any other way, and I'd do it all over again in the same way.
But it's still scary. It's scary to think that for me to say I'm a successful parent, I have to let the kid who made me a mom venture into adulthood. I'll still be here of course, cheering him on and guiding him if he wants. But it'll be from the sidelines, not on the field.
The goal of parenting a child is his independence. But if I'm to be successful at it, it means my son will eventually call, text and visit, rather than barrel down the stairs for dinner, filling the house with his contagious laughter and energy.
For him to live a beautiful, vibrant life means I have to loosen the kite strings I've been holding so firmly in my fingers, making him feel safe, loved and seen. It's a kind of magnificent heartbreak to succeed in this way − to say goodbye to my little boy and hello to adulthood, with just one birthday.
Nicole Russell is a columnist at Paste BN and a mother of four who lives in Texas. Contact her at nrussell@gannett.com and follow her on X, formerly Twitter: @russell_nm. Sign up for her weekly newsletter, The Right Track, here.