To my son on his 18th birthday

Ah, August, you have always been the month of big changes for me. You started decades ago, when you made me a big sister. Then you made me a mother for the first time, even though that was supposed to be September’s job. Then you barely surpassed July to make me a mother for the second time…and ever since then you are a month full of celebrations, bittersweet changes, and not-so-subtle reminders of the speed at which the years pass. 

I steel myself for August every year, but this year may be the one that knocks me flat. But I’m going to tuck that thought away in a box right now, and embrace the start of the month as I wish my baby boy a happy 18th birthday. Six years ago I wrote a post for that boy on the eve of his 12th birthday: 

Your sister grew from a little girl to a young women while I was blinking, so I am acutely aware of how ruthless time can be. It won’t wait until I’m ready, so with every hug I squeeze a little tighter and hold on a little longer. I want to remember what it’s like to hug your slim frame – all bone and muscle -because too soon it will grow up and out, and I will be hugging a boy-man.

I hugged a tween, then a teen, and now I hug a young man (when he lets me, and he usually lets me). His frame is still slim, but it’s taller, with significantly more muscle than that 12-year-old. He reminds me of his father, whom I met just a year after his own 18th birthday.

Back then, I asked if my son knew why I loved him. Do you know why you are so easy to love, and why you are an extraordinary person? There are so many reasons, but I’ll tell you a few. 

And I did. But I’m sure he doesn’t even remember reading that post on his mom’s new blog, so I will tell him again. 

On your 18th birthday: This is why I love you

You have a wonderful sense of humor. Witty, dry, sarcastic or silly, your clever retorts are quick and impressive. I wrote that in 2012, but it’s still true, and I consider your wit one of our greatest parenting wins. It’s another way you remind me of your father at your age. 

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You make amazing omelettes, Egg Man.  Maybe one day you’ll make one for me.

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I wrote to 12-year-old you: You are exuberant. You wake up every day ready for whatever awaits you, and you are rarely in a bad mood. I know this may change as you enter your teen years, but I hope you continue to approach life in a glass-half-full kind of way. It’s contagious. You are a bit moodier than you were then, but you still wake up in good spirits most days. You make the most of life, and live it with seemingly few regrets. 

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Your spontaneous jigs make me smile every time. Don’t ever stop; I challenge you to NOT feel better after doing a jig. Add a heel click in for good measure.

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You are kind. You’re just a nice kid. You treat others with respect and courtesy, whether they are friends, acquaintances, or strangers. I lifted that one straight out of my old post, because I couldn’t say it any better now.  

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You’re comfortable in your own skin. That ease and confidence rubs off on people, and that is a trait that will serve you well as you enter adulthood. 

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You’re flexible, but you have a plan. I used to think that you just roll with everything, but as you’ve matured I can see that when something is important to you, you set your goals to get what you want. But your general approach to life is much more relaxed and less worrisome than mine is. You’re my go-with-the-flow kid, and for a mom who is not so go-with-the-flow, it’s a breath of fresh air.

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You love our pups. They say you can tell a lot about a person by the way he treats animals…and by “they,” I mean me. You care for them, love them, play with them, and even walk them when I ask. They adore you, especially when they can wake you up in the mornings. 

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You still tell me you love me. I usually say it first, but that’s okay. Like your mother, you may find it easier to write how you feel than to say it aloud. But I know. 

Happy 18th Birthday to my baby. What a privilege and a joy it has been to raise you for the past eighteen years. In typical August style, I will have barely recovered from your birthday before Dad and l drop you off at college. But before we go, I’m counting on a hug that takes my breath away, and one more I love you for the road.