BLOODY APRON STRINGS

They don’t tell you when you fall pregnant that the initial cutting of that umbilical cord is in fact nothing compared to the almighty strength it takes to further sever those incredibly thick and extraordinarily strong apron strings.

Today my oldest ‘baby’ joined the workforce. Proper adulting. A real job. And to top it off, a job in his dream profession. The perfect job for him in fact! I couldn’t be happier for him. I am literally so excited. Honestly, the pride I feel is just mind-blowing. Ok, I am gushing, but my point is not to tout.

Last night, when I gave him a his “good luck for work” gift – a lunchbox, cooler bag, travel mug and power bank – I couldn’t prevent the tears pouring down my cheeks. If I feel so happy, then why the tightness in my chest? Why the tears?

The pride and happiness are definitely at the fore of my emotions, but the unexpected sense of relief is powerfully physical. It’s a parenting milestone when your child gets a real job. One they don’t tell you about when you fall pregnant. It’s the exultant feeling that you have done it – got one successfully to adulthood. Set him on his path to his future.

It’s a devastating relief. I feel we have passed the ultimate parenting test. But I kid you not, the emotions are immense.

I remember the day he was born, when I first held him in hospital. The significance of the responsibility, my responsibility, that washed over me was completely overwhelming. The weight of knowing that the little infant in my arms was now completely dependent on me for the next twenty or so years, fell heavily on my shoulders. But today I realised that the waves of emotions that have passed through me on this part of his journey have been as immense. Today I am wondering if those emotions ever get lighter.

First there was the nervousness of his interviews. The heart-breaking devastation of those dreaded ‘your application was not successful’ calls. The desperate hoping and praying that he gets the job he was most excited about. And then, the floods of joyful tears when he actually landed that exciting job. I was thrilled. I was teary. I was proud.

He did it.

We did it.

They don’t tell you when you first fall pregnant how that weight of responsibility stays with you forever. I am sure if my parents read this they will just smile knowingly. I guess that is why my mom will still message to say things like ‘It’s cold today, make sure you dress warmly’.

They don’t tell you how you never ever stop wanting them to be ok, more than ok really. How their wellbeing is forever enmeshed with your own. They didn’t warn me that today, the first day of his real life adulting, I wouldn’t be able to get him out of my mind. How I kept checking my phone to see if he had sent me a message, to see if my “AND??” message had been read. The pride and utter frustration that the message hadn’t even been delivered yet – proud that he had the maturity to keep it off, but frustrated that he had no idea how badly I wanted to know how his day was going. The knot of excitement and concern that sat in the deepest part of my tummy all day, causing me to have a very unproductive day! How when he walked in the door, I had to control every fibre of my being to not pounce on him and suck every detail of his day out of him. How I almost – ALMOST – wished I could have had his day recorded so I could watch him adult.

No one prepares you for anything close to what it feels like when you are pregnant. They tell you what to expect, and about feeding and sleep schedules and nappy rashes and teething and tantrums and growth spurts. But they don’t, can’t, prepare you for how it feels to watch your child grow up. They say your life changes forever, and offer passé comments about how your heart will forever walk outside your body once you’re a parent… but until you hold that child, or see their first fall, or watch their first heartbreak or disappointment, or watch them drive on their own, or walk out the house with a laptop bag, and travel mug on their way to work, you just don’t know. You can’t know.

So when he walked in the door after his first official day of work, and he nonchalantly told me it was good, the tears welled up again. Not because of his casual “it was good”, but because his grin and the brightness in his eyes told me all I needed to know.

The relief is enormous. At the risk of sounding dramatic, it is HUGE! And while initially I felt like this is it, our parenting is basically complete, the emotions of my day, purely because of his day, has made me realise that this is definitely not it.

Today I realised that my happiness and peace of mind will forever be entangled with his, with all of theirs. My heart does indeed walk outside my body, in the form of three other, three very precious, other bodies, and while my enormous pride in who they are becoming, and relief that they are on their journeys into adulthood is there, today brought with it a deep realisation that parenting never ends. Those apron strings are many and they are strong. And every time one severs, as much as we may want them to, it stings a bloody lot!