August 22, 2019

All I Did was Blink

It feels like just yesterday that I was writing about my oldest’s first day at Kindergarten. It was an absolutely gut-wrenching day for me. In fact, I couldn’t imagine going through anything as terrible again. I figured I would be plenty distracted with Sassy, but she took an epic nap that day and I was alone with my misery. But I got through it and went on to survive a series of other gut-wrenching parental moments, like the first time Swim Girl drove to early morning practice on her own, and getting through one seriously awful official visit weekend where I just wanted to go pick her up and rescue her but instead spent the entire time on “Find my iPhone,” just in case I seriously needed to jump in an Uber and go bust her out of there like a Navy Seal.

And then I blinked, and now it’s just two days until she will be moving into her dorm. . . all I did was blink.

I imagine that move-in day will feel much like Kindergarten did, and that the drive home will feel only about 1000 times worse. Instead of 3.5 hours after drop-off, I’ll be able to see her again in about six weeks. It seems almost unfathomable. Six weeks. I don’t think we’ve ever been apart for more than five days. How will I get through a solid month?

Last weekend, while Swim Girl was saying goodbye to some friends, the rest of us went school supply shopping. While Swim Girl and Little Man ran around the store gleefully throwing various supplies into the cart, I kept getting choked up. It feels weird with just the four of us. At one point in the car, I just started crying. Spontaneous crying has been a regular thing around here lately, and I’m not usually one to just burst into tears. When I’m having these moments, I try to talk myself out of them by reminding myself that I had a solid and constant 18 years with her and that she’s ready to go. I have reassured myself multiple times that I have raised a girl with such a good head on her shoulders, a girl who will make smart choices and take off at school, both in the classroom and in the pool. I remind myself that she will be swimming with a coaching staff that literally feels like she’ll be getting a 2nd and 3rd dad (and a really cool big brother). They already care about her. I have no doubt that her coaches and team will be looking out for her. Being an athlete in school gives her a safety net others don’t have and I am so grateful for that. And then I start thinking about all the hurdles and challenges she has overcome, how she dreamed of swimming in college and look at her. . . here she is, a Division 1 scholarship athlete, and I just start bursting with pride. . . and then I get all teared up all over again.

I know I’m not alone in this as I have talked to multiple moms who have dropped off their sons and daughters in the last week. We’re all emotionally fragile right now. We’re all giant storm clouds ready to burst at any moment. One friend said she faked an asthma attack when she realized she was breaking down as she said “goodbye.” I imagine that, just like with Kindergarten and driving and all of the other things, it will get easier with time. In fact, in my brain I know it will. But realizing I won’t be able to make it to all of her swim meets due to conflicts with Sassy and Little Man’s schedules…gut-wrenching. And I know I’m probably going to need to be talked down from using “Find my iPhone 24/7” for at least a little while. No one tells you these things when you become a mother. No one prepares you for how very fast it all goes. You can know they will be ok and that it will get easier in your head, but it’s your heart that feels lost and broken. There is no doubt about it; this weekend is going to be so very hard.