Frogs

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Independence and the single mom

There's been a subtle change that's come over my son since he started school nearly two months ago, a phenomenon that's altering the state of my life irrevocably. I've talked to friends and family about it, and they know what I'm talking about. But, still, the accurate words to describe it elude me. The best general descriptor I can come up with is "independence."

My son is becoming more independent. And not just in the little ways like being able to dress himself and brush his own teeth. It's more than that. It's an attitude, a tone of voice, a way of carrying himself, a confidence or maybe just competence that's new in his life.

It's not just that he hops out of the car in the mornings without looking back -- although it's that. It's not just that he comes home singing all the little variations on songs that are ubiquitous in elementary schools -- although it's that too. And it's not just that he's obviously growing more interested in friends and less interested in me by the hour -- although it's also certainly that.

It's all those things and many more that I can't really put my finger on. But it's been really quite a distinct change over a short period of time.

It's not like he spent the first 5 years of his life at home. He's been in full-time daycare since he was about a year old, so I don't think it has anything to do with his being away from me and with peers. It's got to be something uniquely different about the school environment -- a certain degree of expected independence from the students, the presence of older kids in their midst, something.

Part of me bursts with pride to see him getting his feet under him so quickly and assuredly in this new "big boy" world. The other part of me wants to burst into tears, of course, that my baby's growing up (by the way, the longer I'm a parent the more I wonder how my mom avoids doing that every day of her life whenever she glances at her three completely grown children).

There's also a third part of me that wants to wring his little neck for transforming from my sweet, loving, affectionate little guy (although he is still that a lot of the time) to this annoying little boy creature who comes home singing "Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat. If you don't, I don't care, I'll pull down your underwear." Really, man, really?

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