Big Brother, Big Milestone

Big Brother got a car for Christmas.

Nothing over-the-top fancy — just a good, solid vehicle that should last him a long time. And while I knew this day was coming, I still have very mixed feelings about it.
First of all… wasn’t I just referring to him as “Baby A”?
Second of all — BABIES CAN’T DRIVE! That baby, in the photo at the top that was taken on this day in 2010, that baby is NOT old enough to drive!

I know he’s absolutely pumped about it. He should be. I’m so proud of the confident, capable guy he’s grown into. Watching him sit in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, excitement written all over his face was one of those moments that catches you off guard — the kind that makes time feel “slippy” (as Eli says, slippery).

He doesn’t even turn sixteen until April, which somehow makes it feel both way too early and already late at the same time. I keep thinking I should feel more prepared for this milestone. I mean, this is a good one. An exciting one. The kind of thing parents and teenagers both count down to.

And yet.

Moments like this don’t land softly when you’ve spent years measuring siblings’ progress in millimeters, sitting in meetings, waiting on reports, holding your breath for outcomes. When so much of motherhood has been lived in survival mode, the big, joyful milestones can feel almost disorienting — and sometimes overshadowed by everything else.

I’m proud. I really am. But I’m also painfully aware of how quickly this season is moving — how fast adult responsibility and independence show up for your “baby” when you’re not ready.

The car isn’t really the thing. It’s what it represents.

It’s watching my first baby step further into a world that won’t need me in quite the same way. It’s realizing that “Baby A” is becoming a young man with places to go and plans of his own. It’s knowing that while I hope I’ll always be his safe place, I won’t always be the starting point.

And I’m learning — slowly — that it’s okay to hold all of that at once. Pride and disbelief. Joy and a quiet ache. Celebration and a tiny bit of grief.

So here’s the update: Big Brother has a car. He’s thrilled. I’m proud. And I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that the baby I once rocked to sleep is getting ready to drive himself into the world.

No matter how far he goes — or how fast — he’ll always be my Baby A.

🩵 Nickel from the Jar:
Some milestones feel like celebration. Others feel like time tapping you on the shoulder, reminding you that nothing stays still — not even the babies you swear can’t drive.

Susan