Susan likes to see her children getting bigger. She never wanted to keep them little like some mothers she knows. She never engaged in any boo hoo this is my last baby behavior because it's silly. She liked watching them figure stuff out. Giving up the breastfeeding was a little sad, but she wouldn't want to still be breastfeeding them. Plus, the breasts were sort of taken out of circulation for other things during that time period if you know what she means.
And you do.
She likes that they have lives away from her, relationships and experiences that belong only to them. She wants to see what they'll do because she trusts them. To a point. She knows that when she's not screaming at two lazy kids to do their homework, feed the dog and pick their sh*t up from the livingroom floor, she's forming adults.
Susan accepts that they're not as cute as they used to be. They used to twirl and sing and jump and talk, and get lice and pee in their beds and trade away their brand new birthday toys to the kid on the bus and spill nail polish on their feet eight hours a day. Adorable.
Now they're sarcastic, dramatic and loud when they're not being totally silent. They're within sight of bringing home boyfriends or girlfriends and smelling like pot.
Susan's waiting in the dark lacing up the gloves.