My phone buzzes. It’s a text from my oldest. “Mom, we have to schedule my senior pictures?”
And just like that, a wave of emotions hits me.
In just three months, this school year will be over. Then we’ll have a three-month summer break, one last summer before everything shifts again. And then? Six months from now, I’ll have one kid in their final year of high school and my youngest officially starting high school.
Now, one is looking at colleges, and the real world. And the other? About to enter high school, stepping into a whole new phase of independence.
Time is a thief.
It’s such a strange mix of emotions, pride, excitement, nostalgia, and overwhelming anxiety.
Did I do things right? Did I teach them enough? Have I prepared them for the real world?
And then there’s the new level of worry that comes with this stage of motherhood. The bigger kids, the bigger risks. Driving. Late nights out with friends. College applications. The thought of them going off into the world, making their own choices, navigating life without me hovering, feels both incredible and terrifying.
But I also know this is what I raised them for. To grow, to explore, to become their own people.
Three more months of this school year, then summer, and then my house will be filled with high schoolers. There’s something so bittersweet about this transition. I love watching them grow, step into who they are, and chase their dreams. But I also find myself clinging to the little moments, the ones that remind me they’re still my babies, even as they stand taller, drive off with their friends, and make plans that don’t always include me.
The car rides. The after-school chats. The late-night snacks in the kitchen where they open up about their day. I know these next three months will fly by, and then we’ll be planning for a senior year and a freshman year all at once.
I know time won’t slow down. But maybe, just maybe, I can be fully present enough to make these next six months stretch just a little longer.
I’m not ready to have two high schoolers. But I guess we never really are, are we?
And please, check on me this time next year, because I don’t think I’ll be okay.