Dispatches from a Half Empty Nest

When one of your kids has moved out, but the other one hasn’t, but turns 18 tomorrow, is the nest half empty or half full?

Eighteen.

I was walking along College Avenue this afternoon, two birthday cards in my hand because there wasn’t one that felt just right, remembering this day 18 years ago. A hot spell broke that evening, July 30, 2006. I’d spent the previous week sitting as still as possible, my incredibly rotund belly resting on my lap while I finished jigsaw puzzles like I was mad at them. But then the heat wave crested and receded. We had Indian food for dinner - maybe I’d go into labor a few hours before my scheduled induction? (I didn’t). I certainly didn’t walk anywhere, or if I did, it was just around the block, a swelling balloon of mother-anger. The baby, now 18, was two full weeks overdue, cozy as can be in my uterus. Neither Indian food nor foreplay nor walking could dislodge him from his haven.

And turning 18 isn’t dislodging him either, although he’s entertaining the idea of moving out someday, and acting like he lives in unsupervised transitional housing in the meantime. *Heavy sigh* What is it that I want? A nest half empty or a nest half full?

Tonight was a turning point though. Brook and Quinn went to a baseball game. When I’m alone, I find it very hard to eat properly. Chips and salsa, cheese and crackers, PBJ. It’s like the kids’ menu, only for me. Tonight though, I made what could arguably be called dinner. It is what I would expect an 18-year-old to be proud to make, but still. I had reheated asparagus, smashed potatoes, and a hot dog. Don’t judge.

Here’s what I’m getting at: no one warns you how much of parenthood involves feeling sad/happy and nervous/excited. My baby survived to his eighteenth birthday! Please go away/don’t leave!

I had lunch today with a friend whose child is (fingers crossed) maybe possibly going to college in a couple of weeks. Like a lot of kids, my friend’s daughter is acting like Punxatawny Phil. Her mother waits anxiously at the edge of the burrow wondering if the child will emerge so that college can begin or see her shadow and retreat for another year of homebound living. We talked about how we need to start living like we have an empty nest regardless of whether the kids go or not. They don’t want us hanging around them any more than we want them hanging around us.

What will we do with our time? She suggested going to a story slam and I suggested we go to pub trivia night. Each of us feels outside of our comfort zone with the other’s suggestion, which is of course why we have to do it. We need to feel sad/happy/nervous/excited about something other than our little birds whether they are ready to fly or not.

Parenting is a trip. Happy Birthday to Quinn.