Be gentle with me today. This one felt particularly emotional. It’s the post I wrote on Whit’s birthday but didn’t publish.

If you’ve been here for any length of time, you know I love birthdays. All birthdays, yes, but especially my boys’ birthdays. I look forward to them with the same excitement I did when they were toddlers. Last night I went to bed happy, with my heart full and an early alarm set. Honey slipped out before sunrise to pick up chicken biscuits and I set up the kitchen the way I have for nearly two decades: gifts laid out, the birthday plate at the ready, our Elf on the Shelf dressed in his birthday suit.

When Whit came downstairs and his face lit up, it brought me nothing but pure, simple joy.

But when he walked out the door for school, keys in hand… the tears came. And came. And came.

There it was… the ache I’ve been trying to keep at bay. This is the last year he will technically be a child. My baby, the child I prayed for with every fiber of my being, is seventeen. Next year he may wake up at home on his birthday for the very last time.

I don’t like to borrow trouble from tomorrow, but today it all felt so big. So close. So overwhelming.

Being a mother has been the greatest joy of my life. And this past year, as I’ve poured myself into new projects, new adventures, new people, I can see it for what it is – my heart quietly preparing itself for the empty nest that is coming. Not in fear, but in acceptance. In gratitude.

I have no regrets about how I’ve raised my boys. I showed up for everything. I celebrated everything. I soaked them in. But if I could tiptoe back in time for just one more day… I think I’d choose when Whit was three and John was six. When they shared the room upstairs with the matching twin beds. When they laughed and schemed and, of course, fought like brothers do. When my whole heart was tucked into one little room.

John was already fiercely independent, and Whit still let me carry him on my hip. We read Curious George every night. They slept with lovies and wore matching jammies. I was their whole world and they were mine.

I’ve said it a million times, maybe to convince myself it’s true, but I really do have everything I dreamed for my boys. They are healthy. They are happy. They are kind, good young men. They are believers. They love their family. They contribute to their communities. They have friends and hobbies and they pour into both.

And so, in the middle of today’s tears, I know there is so much joy still ahead.

In fact, John will walk through the door any minute now. Tacos are ready, Honey’s homemade salsa is on the counter, hot chocolate is on deck for later and suddenly everything feels right in the world again.

Seventeen is tender.
But it is beautiful, too.

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