In the morning, my youngest Wolf will be going off to college. I am braced for Empty Nest Syndrome.

Being me, I googled Empty Nest Syndrome. All the images are depressing. The moms all look like the women in ads for antidepressants. Then there are a bunch of standard bird nests, sadder looking than the moms. There is even a website called emptynestmoms or something. There are also support groups. Ha.

I read a new agey thing with a nice mystical angle but in the end, it pronounced:

“There is no more empty nest syndrome, unless you have issues.”

Oh no! What?!? Fuck. But wait:

“It is, and has always been about, discovery and recovery … and best of all realizing you can have fun and create your own reality.”

God.

I just want to start all over again, to when each child was a baby. Everything seemed so easy. I could be a better mother and bake cookies. I would never yell.

I’m so proud of my boy and I know he’ll go on to change the world. But I wish I could stay in bed for around six months rather than contemplate my Empty Nest. You can bet I won’t be creating my own reality, unless that involves the reality of imaginary children who will let me cuddle them and never leave.