The In-between.

When you are a parent with a large age gap between your children there is a strange moment in parenting when you realise that for some of your children the world no longer revolves around school holidays, lunchboxes, and permission slips, whilst for others it does.

But I still have two children at high school.

Their lives are measured in timetables, classes, exams and assessments. I still need to make sure uniforms are clean, and lunchboxes are packed.

But two of my children are already stepping into the real world.

And the gap between those seasons is starting to hit me, and I am not sure I am ready for it.

One day you’re standing at the school gate for the last time with one child, and the next day you are walking into a uniform shop buying your youngest their first high school uniform.

You realise the seasons are changing.

No more primary school for one, and no more school for another.

I thought I was ok with it, welcoming this new season with open arms.

But then one of your children books a plane ticket, an overseas trip.

Not with you.

Without you.

We spent years telling my children that the world is big, that it is waiting for them, that they should dream boldly and step into it without fear.

We have told them to travel, to see the world, take every opportunity and they have watched us do it.

We wanted them to know that opportunity isn’t something you wait for, it’s something you chase and choose daily.

We have taught them to take risks, calculated risks.

That they can achieve everything they want in life, if they are willing to dream big, work hard and never give up.

And now she is, and I don’t know if I am ready for it, but I know she is.

My daughter is heading to the other side of the world on her first overseas trip.

She is capable, excited, prepared, everything I hoped she would be, everything we have been preparing them to be.

But somehow the night before she flies, I feel completely unprepared.

There are no forms to sign for this milestone. No checklist pinned to the fridge. No reassuring bell to mark the end of the day and bring her back home.

Just distance.

And trust.

It’s a strange feeling.

Knowing you did your job well enough that they no longer need you in the ways they once did, but knowing that no matter what you will be there for her.

The calendar is beginning to fill with plans that we are now not part of. Conversations have shifted from “Can we?” to “I am going to”

Meanwhile, another child still asks what time dinner is and whether they can eat dessert.

Both realities exist at once.

And I am still learning how to navigate them, we all are. Younger siblings are embracing front seats, whilst still putting out extra plates at dinner time.

You see, I have always told them the world was at their fingertips, and I will keep telling all my kids this.

I just didn’t realise how quickly they would reach for it, and how hard it is to let go when it happens.

You see, this is my season of motherhood.

Watching some of my children walk confidently into the world

While still walking through the shops holding the hands of those not quite ready to let go.