Poor mama bird, I know how she feels…
I found a broken shell from a newly hatched baby under the ficus tree. A pair of warbling vireos make a home year after year in this birdhouse.
It’s so sad that she puts all that work into building a nest and feeding her babies and they always fly away.
They always leave mommy. *sniff*
I guess that’s the way Mother Nature intended it to be, but it still sucks.
Facebook is full of moms who can’t wait until their children turn eighteen, almost pushing them out of the nest with a packed suitcase and a sigh of relief so they can resume their “lives”, but that’s not the way I feel about it.
As much as I’m bursting with pride at the independent and successful young professor he’s become, his bedroom is still quietly waiting — just as it always was, with fresh sheets on the bed, clean clothes in the closet, and his favorite books lined up on the shelf.
In the beginning, when he first left for college (years ago), the hardest thing to deal with was the silence — the QUIET was deafening. I have no idea how one child could fill up the space with his presence, but he did.
Now, nothing makes me happier than a call telling me he’s coming home for a visit (sigh) so I can load up on the ingredients for his favorite foods.
You know how mama birds feed their young, don’t you? They regurgitate partially digested insects and worms directly into the beaks of their babes.
I’m not THAT extreme, but you know what I mean.
It’s one of my greatest joys to watch my son eat.
I admit it. I do. I sit across from him at the table and soak it all in, every single mouthful.
(Don’t feel sorry for him, he’s used to it.)
And then he leaves again, and the quiet fills our house and our hearts.
Can you guess that I’m missing my Angel Boy right now?