Just. You. Wait. This is the phrase that reverberated in my head when I was pregnant with my first child. I received so much unsolicited advice from well-meaning friends. As if the intense morning sickness wasn’t bad enough, the stories of childbirth, breastfeeding, potty training, two-year old temper tantrums and teenage drama sent me into the bathroom puking and crying.  I have now spent the past 28 years practicing on my own children, making my own mistakes and learning tough lessons along the way. I have yet to tell a new mom to “just wait”, but instead am a bit envious of her exciting journey ahead.

For the record, why do mothers feel the need to make raising children such a competition and make new moms feel so inadequate? Perhaps that is a topic for another day, but thus far, I’ve learned that some of the motherhood phases have been better than I could ever have imagined while some have been inexplicably difficult, even painful. There is no doubt about it. Being in the trenches of raising kids is tough. Among the long list of the do’s, don’ts and “just you waits”, I was never informed about what I’ve found thus far to be the toughest phase of “raising babies”. No one warned me about the hole that would be left in my heart as I faced the empty nest.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t entirely give up on myself just because I had children. I have filled my life with friends, traveling, jobs, hobbies, etc. as much as possible with kids underfoot, but I didn’t understand that the “freedom” I dreamed of on so many chaotic mornings would be so lonely. I used to crave quiet, and now I would give anything to hear those little voices once again. Yes, I even miss the whiny, irritating, complaining tones, because they were reminders of how much I was needed. I have not forgotten about the exhaustion and the worrying and the desperation. I raised four busy, uniquely different children, and I remember  the feeling of being stretched in a hundred directions. But, I propose that it was still somehow easier in those days when I felt needed and vaIidated and was able to calm their fears.

This emptying of my nest began slowly, almost imperceptibly. I didn’t even realize at the time that it was happening because I was so busy making lunches and driving carpool and signing homework papers. The first day of kindergarten swiftly evolved into the middle school “keep mom at arm’s length” stage.  The independence of having a driver’s license, a boyfriend and a job gave way all to soon to the first day of college. Before I realized it, without any warning, I graduated to consultant rather than the choreographer and director. With each subsequent child I believed I could somehow stop time, but it never seemed to work that way.  Each one promised they would stay small, but each one grew up and ventured out of the nest.  My adult children and I have grown to be incredible friends, and I value the time we spend together; but I still will always hold a place in my heart for my “littles”.

I instinctively understood that my life would never again be the same after becoming “mom” to my favorite four people in all the world, but I didn’t comprehend the depth of that change. I was repeatedly told to “enjoy” my children, but in the noise and chaos of it all, I forgot to listen. It was usually at the most stressful times of parenthood that I was told to embrace it, so I begrudged the advice, telling myself that “so and so” had no idea what I was dealing with on a daily basis. I was just surviving-how was I expected to “enjoy” it? I was so busy and involved in the day to day business of life that I didn’t realize that I was indeed enjoying the best years of my life. The constant demands of my children wore me down, but I was not prepared for this lonely emptiness that would consume me once they were grown. I now know why my mother told me that childbirth was the easy part.

That being said, would I do it again? In a heartbeat. If I had it to do over again I would worry less and play more. I would compare less and laugh more. I would hold those babies close and let them snuggle in my bed. I would take them to the park and memorize their giggles and let them play in the rain. I wasted so much precious time, and I would give anything to have it back. I would leave the dishes in the sink and read them one last story and let them wear whatever crazy outfit they wanted to wear on their first day of kindergarten. I would drive them to/from their countless school activities and appreciate the time we had to spend in the car rather than adding the carpool miles in my head. It is easy to say now, but the truth remains that I would listen more intently to what they were trying to tell me, spoken or unspoken.

Like every other mom phase, I am stumbling quite awkwardly through this mom transition. I’m not sure why I am sad that they in fact grew up to be self-sufficient, hardworking, capable adults who are moving on with their lives and now raising their own babies. Wasn’t that the goal? I guess that means I must have done at least a marginal job at managing the “just you waits”, but I do ache for the times when I was able to kiss away their fears and skinned knees with band-aids and ice cream cones. I still lose sleep, worry and pray like I have from day one, but the decisions are no longer mine to make.

I once again find myself stumbling ungracefully along this motherhood journey, attempting to learn this fine art of letting go. Just in time, as if on cue, my granddaughter just ran into me with a big smile on her face, reaching out to me with a book in her hands. As she climbs up in my lap for a bedtime story, I realize that perhaps it is true that a mother’s job is never done. Perhaps I don’t have to let go quite yet. Perhaps the best is yet to come.