By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
As I pen this in late April, we are T minus 22 days away from baby boy graduating from – gulp – college, and it’s getting real. I’m feeling a certain kind of way on the daily, and it is not necessarily a good thing. Just ask Mr. Kaminski.
Sure, there are days that I’m super excited. Graduating from The University of Texas McCombs School of Business is a huge accomplishment, and W. has done it all on his own. He’s made the grades, he’s made the commitment, he’s done it on time, he’s stayed the course. He’s worked part-time for the past 18 months, and he has a big boy job all buttoned up. And, of course, this being off of momma and daddy’s payroll thing absolutely is something to celebrate.
Of course, there will be the appropriate pomp and circumstance to celebrate the precious prince – all deserved, all beyond emotional for the momma. Because on the flip side of the coin are the other days – the not so shiny ones – that keep turning up like a bad penny. These are the days that I think about my 275-month-old baby, my virtual newborn, who I brought home from the hospital a week ago. I still have the baby weight to prove it. I thumb through his baby pictures, and I can literally still smell his baby smell. You know how each baby has their own scent, and as a momma, you know your baby by simply a brief whiff? It’s true gentlemen. Ask any momma; it’s a thing.
To make matters worse, seven days after baby boy graduates, he will turn 23 years-old. Now how he can be 23 when I’m only 29 is completely perplexing to me. But honestly, just how much momma trauma am I supposed to endure in a brief 30-day period? This just doesn’t seem right.
My matriarchs have always imparted that we raise the babies to leave the nest – to provide them with the resources to soar on their own – having completed our task as caregivers, as providers, as nurturers, as parents. I admit – I like the whole soaring thing. Even the Bible talks about us soaring like eagles. I can get behind that. It’s the leaving the nest thing that bothers me. You see, this is not my first rodeo. I know how it works out. Kassidi graduated – with two degrees, my babies are smart – got a big girl job, moved and is living large, as she should. But we’re lucky to get a baby girl drive by at the Kaminski homestead, so I see the writing on the wall.
Maybe I should get another baby. I have experience and references. I know how to do it. I ran this idea up the proverbial flagpole, otherwise known as Mr. Kaminski. Oddly enough, it didn’t sail. Caught a lot of wind – gale force type – but it was more destructive than doting. Imagine that.
All I can say is it’s going to be a month full of juxtapositions. I’ll cry because I’m happy; I’ll cry because I’m sad. I’ll be angry because I don’t have a baby; I’ll be angry because I have two babies, they are bigger than me and can drive. I’ll be mad for no apparent reason and happy for the same. Y’all pray for Mr. Kaminski. This month-long momma trauma is going to be a wild ride.
See y’all next week – on the porch!