Back in February my daughter informed me that she planned to join the Air Force. I listened to her plans and saw her excitement. Her enthusiasm was contagious. This is the child who can’t leave the house unless she’s put together and who appointed herself my official stylist when she was just twelve. I had a ball making Private Benjamin jokes and even rented the original with Goldie Hawn so we could watch it together (she was not impressed).
Through mountains of paperwork, testing, multiple trips to MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Station), delays for vision waivers and self-doubt I’ve been right there cheering her on. When she started attending thrice weekly physical training sessions with other recruits at a local park I rearranged my schedule so I could attend too. I rejoiced with her back in July when she finally found out what day she’d be leaving for basic training and when she needed to go shopping for items she’s required to pack I was her willing shopping partner.
Through it all friends and family kept making remarks about how hard they thought it was going to be for me to let go. I scoffed at them and rolled my eyes. Are you kidding? She’s twenty-two, smart, strong and sure of what she wants. I was looking forward to the opportunity to visit her in exotic locales around the globe. Then something strange happened. We hit the one week till leave date mark on the calendar and I lost all sense of composure and bravado. This bitch named Reality started picking at the scab over the wounds made when my apron strings were cut from my body.
My Princess leaves for basic training hundreds of miles away and will only have limited contact with home for the next two months. My only child, my baby girl, my own special treasure. To say this is going to be a hard adjustment is an understatement. I understand that now. I also understand that this is a milestone that millions of moms have gone through before me with their sons and daughters and that it’s not all about me. This is HER moment. Out of the nest with wings spread she will soar to heights that I only imagined when I held her for the first time all those years ago. Back in 1989 she wasn’t quite eight pounds of screaming independence but she was already preparing for this moment with that first change of venue from the womb to the cradle.
So what’s a mom to do but suck it up, smile through the tears and say “I love you. I’m so very proud of you. Go get ‘em girl!!!”
Chief Erotic Officer