Wednesday, May 22, 2013
So our son is moving out.
He's 19, so obviously, this is not a surprise to me, but still.
He actually has a pretty sweet deal. He graduated from high school last year, and is working full-time. He has his own "man cave" in our house, complete with sofa, coffee table, game systems, mini-fridge, and lots of friends who crash there. He pays rent, but also has the unrestricted use of our laundry room, full-size fridge, and the coffee maker. He pretty much comes and goes as he pleases. So, not a bad deal, right?
I was 19 once, and I remember that I couldn't wait to move out on my own. So I really do get it. But when he asked me to go looking at apartments with him today, it kind of threw me for a loop, which I didn't expect.
I am becoming "that woman."
That empty nest lady.
The woman who - even though I've been through this once before when our daughter moved out - can't help worrying that my child will starve to death. Or forget to pay the electric bill.
The one who panics and thinks, "...but he's my baby! How can he possibly want to live on his own?!"
The woman who sees two-year old children screaming in McDonald's and sighs, telling their harried moms "I miss those days..." (and really mean it!)
And the funny thing is, we don't even have an empty nest!
We have three other kids living here! And at any given moment there is a great likelihood that one of their friends is crashing on our sofa. We have an open-door policy, in that regard. However, by August, two more of our kiddos will be moving out and across the country to go to school. That will leave only one in the nest for the next few years.
Maybe by the time the last one flies away, I'll have pulled myself together, and figured out how to live in an emptying nest.