Taking Flight

Edwin has his learner’s permit, and that means I have brand new opportunities to experience anxiety. I am actually becoming a less horrible parent passenger. I have only squeezed his arm and yelled the f word twice (yes, while he was driving – not proud of it). I am no longer wearing a hole in the floor on the passenger side where the ghost brake is located. I am practicing taking deep breaths and learning to trust this child who is rapidly approaching adulthood.

How did this happen so fast? Okay, so it does seem like a long time ago when he was driving around his Fisher Price Cozy Coupe with his feet, and a few years later helpfully lending his energy to propel our trail-a-bike forward. That was the best. He could help move the bike, but he couldn’t steer or brake; I had all the control. Then he graduated to a Lightning McQueen bike, and from there, he zipped though several until he needed a bike bigger than mine. I guess he does have a good eight inches on me now.

Now this boy of mine is behind the wheel of a car. Just typing that sends a chill down my spine. My baby. In a car. On busy roads with careless texters. I can easily spot them because, really, what’s so very interesting in that lap of yours, may I ask? No, don’t answer that.

This is quite a lesson on how to relinquish some control and trust that the world won’t eat my baby. Take flight, my boy (but CAUTIOUSLY).