Like birth, so the passage into adulthood?

Rainer Maria Rilke once wrote the lines: «I live my life in growing rings that stretch across things.» I like this idea of life in cycles. There are so many wonderful ones: seasons, menstruation and old age, to name just three favourites.

With these thoughts in mind, I recently travelled from the birth of my eldest son to his 18th birthday and asked myself: are there parallels between the way I brought my son into the world and the way I am now sending him off into the adult world? And there are indeed.

A difficult birth

I gave birth to my three children relatively effortlessly. The second birth, which is the subject of this article, was the most difficult for me. My big boy was in no hurry to see the light of day. When I went to hospital in the morning of 17 January 2005 with regular contractions, my child thought he needed a longer break first.

The contractions stagnated for half a day. I did lap after lap around the hospital grounds while he huddled comfortably in his cave and waited. Even later on, when he was on the contraceptives, he knew how to make himself as comfortable as possible.

«Don't break my waters, then I'll have a nice helmet,» he must have said to himself. It was only when the bubble burst due to external influences that he gave himself a jolt and presented himself to the world with a perfectly formed baby head.

A gap year after the apprenticeship

In the summer of 2023, the once tiny, bald man stands before me as a 190-centimetre man with a mane of blonde dreadlocks and a completed apprenticeship. So far, so straightforward. But here's the thing: he doesn't want to do the vocational baccalaureate or get a permanent job in his profession straight afterwards, but wants to take a gap year first.

What exactly scares me? That my son won't be able to cope and will miss the boat? Or am I simply jealous?

«Excuse me?» I ask nervously, my voice trembling and I immediately assume the worst: My son is hanging out comfortably at home with me in Hotel Mama while I do my 80% workload and take care of the household chores. «Not like that, mate,» I think and keep quiet.

But my second eldest remains deeply relaxed, just as he was in my womb. He has plans, he needs time for himself and for the things he has in mind. «Who wouldn't want that?» I think caustically and demand a concrete timetable. Living with me for free is also not an option. After all, he was of legal age and would have an apprenticeship qualification in his pocket.

Wrestling with myself

My son keeps me waiting, and instead of doing my rounds in the hospital grounds, I'm now doing them in my head. What exactly scares me? That he won't be able to cope and will miss the boat? That he won't fit in well with our meritocracy and get stuck? Or am I simply jealous? Of his youthful drive, his fervent desire to realise his dreams, his desire to break free and leap into the unknown? Or am I naive? Do I feel exploited and betrayed? Do I not trust him or myself to take such a step?

I wrestle with myself for weeks and toss and turn in sleepless nights. After talking to various confidants (they would be the labour remedy in this story...), I give myself a jolt and present him with my demands and ideas for such a gap year.

Another article on the mother-son relationship

And just like when he was born, everything works like magic after the long struggle: my son agrees to my demands and shows me his plans, which are now quite mature. He uses the sports holidays to actively take care of it. I am impressed.

Four magic words

Together we take a run-up for the final contraction, which is all about letting go of everything once again. The good head has done its job. Reason has no place here, we dive into deeper layers of life. I know in my heart that this young man will make it. That will be really good!

At this moment it clicks. Two ends fit together seamlessly. Rilke's rings grow. I remember holding the newborn in my arms. Exhausted, infinitely happy and drenched in love. «I love you, no matter what,» I whispered to him back then. In a good moment, I take my grown-up son in my arms and say out loud: «I believe in you.»