New to the Empty Nest – Baby Bird has launched!

I didn’t have the heart to put it out of its misery. It limped between life and death.

In truth, it wasn’t even miserable at all. It floated about, rising, twirling according to the ceiling fan blades’ will.

In passing, I had glanced at it for months, smiling at its message, quite amazed that this dollar store find was still kicking. It was the very last “Happy Father’s Day” balloon in the store.

I thought it was special at the time of purchase. Its now crinkled surface moaned on a single string, falling and lifting in a way that I was akin.

My college-bound baby commented, “I can’t believe this thing is still floating!” I’m not sure if it was what he said or the fact that it was him who said it, but I felt a piercing connection to that 2 month old balloon, and swallowed back the tear that was sitting in my eye. I toggled between deep sadness and agitation, for I could not escape the colorful Mylar’s taunting.

We had been preparing and packing for 18 years, and it was time to drive him off to his new home away from home, where he could engage in academic discovery and semi-adulting. We got to the school in 30 seconds, even though it was over an hour away. We spent another 30 seconds setting up his room and driving around campus to handle some last-minute must-haves. Then he let me hug him for an uncomfortable amount of time, and he walked off.

He walked off.

He walked off.

A bend in the string, dangling down instead of up. It was a sad sight, watching it struggle and deflate painfully slow, but it was still floating about, even if it was inches from the ground. I watched it and poured tears into my morning oatmeal. It was the day after. It was pitiful, my breakfast was sorry, and I was a sad sight too.

My balloon buddy, I thought, was a direct reflection of who I was. No-no-no, this was WHEN it was, not who I was. It was a season, like summer’s Grads and Dads. He was just helping me feel my feels.

I had dove deep into all the details to launching Baby-bird, that I hadn’t sat with the full range of emotions, from pride and joy to overwhelm, anxiety, frustration, delight, apprehension, panic, awe, gratitude, blessedness, and now mourning.

I packed up my oatmeal and headed upstairs to change for work. I entered my bedroom and thought to close the door, but didn’t.

I undressed and raised my arms like Wonder Woman, spinning and smiling. Singing at the top of my lungs, She’s a Brick House, I had the nerve to run around my room butt booty naked laughing and remembering why big boob girls need sports bras for such activity.

Making so much noise I forgot I wasn’t alone at all. The tap-tap of four paws made their way up the stairs and through my bedroom, staring at me in my birthday suit.

It is a new season—a new season indeed.

Lady Becoming