Encounter with the inner mother hen
And suddenly the boy was a head taller and five kilos heavier, from one moment to the next, it seemed. It happened all the time when the children were small. Sometimes I went to work in the morning and when I came home in the evening, my son looked completely different and I thought that as a working mum I was missing out on so much. But then the children reached school age and everything became more structured and regular. Continuous development instead of leaps and bounds, accompanied by prudent primary school teachers who kept me fully informed about his progress and deficits. Meanwhile, I fought the classic battles at home: Comb your hair before you leave the house, tidy your room, put your smartphone away, who finished the biscuits and didn't throw the box away? I don't know how many synapses I blew while demanding this at different decibel levels. But I do know that I longed for the day when he would finally realise.
«I actually always thought it would be easy for me to let go».
Perhaps too many synapses have flown, because I must have missed something somewhere. Now everything is different. During the summer holidays, I taught my twelve-year-old to fry his own fried egg, something that had previously failed due to his lack of interest. I let him travel longer train journeys on his own - with changes. After some initial hesitation, this filled him with pride. He told me: «I've now discovered the benefits of independence.» And since then, everything has changed. He does his homework when I ask him to. He practises the guitar without me asking him to, he not only combs his hair, he even does his hair. He doesn't just put his trousers on properly, he only wears trousers that suit his new-found sense of style. Is that still my son? Oh yes! But it almost scares me a little, so I ask myself: am I still the mum I was?
«Now I'm discovering a new mother inside me. One that I didn't know and that looks suspiciously like a mother hen».
I actually always thought that letting go would be easy for me. I welcomed every new piece of independence my children gained. I looked forward to the day when they would stand on their own two feet and find their own way. To the freedom I would regain as a result. But now I'm discovering a new mum in me. One I didn't recognise and who looks suspiciously like a mother hen. She wants to spread her wings over her youngest child and would prefer to keep it with her. She no longer thinks about her own freedom, but about the empty nest that will eventually be left behind. I know such hens and what they can do. My father, also a youngest son, told me about his struggles for freedom and how difficult it was. I don't want to burden my son with that. But until then, I'm going to nurture the mother hen in me. I'll let her fry fried eggs and send her on train journeys with my son. Until he's ready, then I'll set him free and turn the mother hen into a nice roast chicken. Maybe the son will come to dinner.