Separation anxiety

As soon as my son turned 15 months old, a switch flipped. He has suddenly become a clinging, crying mess when I leave the room or leave him with a sitter, his grandparents or even his dad. Last weekend, I attempted to leave his room so I could take a shower (my husband was there with him.) He tried to follow me out, screaming, turning red, and, with tears streaming down his cheeks, found my legs and grabbed them, crying plaintively.

Naturally, I felt the familiar mom-guilt when he did this, worrying that I did something wrong or wasn’t being a good parent.  Because taking a shower is deeply selfish, right?

This is where we are right now.

On the one hand, I hate that this is happening. Of course, I am disturbed by his tears and pleas for me not to leave. Whenever he cries, my instinct kicks in and all I want to do is comfort him. I desperately want his pain to pass. I feel guilty for doing things that take me away from him, even if they are things I need to do to be sane, like exercise, see friends or rest. Each time, I have to walk through the fire of his fear before I can leave. It’s hard.

But there is this secret part of me who likes that he needs me, that he clings to me, just a little. That I’m special to him, irreplaceable. That all the hours I spend caring for him each day matter. That all the parts of myself that I’ve set aside or given away aren’t for nothing—that my son loves and needs me. I’m not just a warm body that feeds him, changes him and keeps him healthy. I’m special to him because I’m Mommy.

And always, in the back of my mind, is the awareness that won’t always be the case. That someday, he will take off in another direction and not need to look back at me or cling to me for reassurance. He is an incredibly independent soul and I feel it coming.

So I let myself secretly relish his separation anxiety even as it is stressful as hell. It has an expiration date, along with this time with my son. And that’s wonderful and awful.

That will be the time for my separation anxiety. And that will probably be there for the rest of my life.