One minute you’re teaching them how to open their own juice box and the next… they’re teenagers.
Jason is officially a teenager now, and Laura has just six months left before she leaves those years behind. I find myself sitting in that strange space between pride and disbelief—wondering how we got here so fast. I remember holding them as babies, telling them silly stories and making up the best imaginary games. Being a mother is the absolute best.
They are both incredibly talented in their own ways. Jason is a creative thinker, a musician, and someone who feels things deeply. He has the kind of humor that fills a room and the kind of heart that makes people want to be around him. He’s not just my son—he’s a genuinely great friend to others.
And Laura… watching her step into adulthood has been just as powerful. There’s something about seeing your children become who they were always meant to be that takes your breath away a little. She is almost finished her freshman year of college! Whenever I see her, it’s the best and whenever she leaves I cry.
But this stage of parenting is different.
Especially with a son, I’m realizing how important it is to stay present, to guide without hovering, and to understand that our role as parents doesn’t end—it just evolves. The problems get bigger. The conversations get deeper. The stakes feel higher. I learn not to ask so much but be prepared to listen to when he’s ready. To be one step ahead without him knowing.
And yet, part of me still misses the little boy who lived in a world of pure silliness. The one who laughed at everything, played without hesitation, and needed me in the most obvious ways. I have joy watching him build legos and watching him play video games.
Now, he needs me differently.
And I’m learning to meet him there.
As I grow older with cerebral palsy, I’d be lying if I said I don’t think about the future. I wonder what our lives will look like years from now. I hope—more than anything—that I can continue to be present for every step, every milestone, every moment that matters.
Because being their mom… that was always the dream.
And somehow, through everything, I got to live it.
I don’t take that for granted—not for a second.
“One day you pick them up… the next, they’ve outgrown your arms—but never your heart.”
