I was exhausted.
And I was emotional.
I mean, I sniffled tears while folding towels and bawled over discarded individual-sized chocolate milk containers.
Because I am not ready to quit taking care of my baby.
And I know, I know. Elder will still need me to take care of him. But not in that every day, wake me up, kiss me at bedtime kind of way.
Of course, Elder is having a fabulous, wonderful, grand old time. Every text says his day was “great.” All his previous days only rated a “good.”
And good. I’m glad. I am. Well, I’m working on it.
No, I am actually thrilled for him. I loved Mizzou. He will love Mizzou.
And he still loves me.
He tells me so every time he calls.
“Bye, Mom. Love you.”
Younger found me the night before we took Elder to Mizzou. He crawled into bed with me and patted my shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Mom. Nothing’s really changing.”
“Everything’s changing,” I sobbed without pride.
He tilted his head to the side, his eyes full of sympathy. “You still have me at home, Mom. Isn’t that what’s most important?”
And I laughed then bawled, “I don’t have you for much longer.”
And when Younger leaves, I’ll have only my husband.
So, you know, tears are definitely warranted.
I’ve slept in the last few weeks, so the emotional outbursts have abated. For the most part, anyway.
But as hard as raising boys successfully to adulthood is…
Watching them leave is heartbreaking.