As Yukon, Bear, and I were departing Nesbitt Courthouse in downtown Anchorage yesterday, a funny feeling of anticipation welled up inside my shaken mother-body. I'm not exactly sure how to explain it, but with the banging of the magistrate's gavel at 11:24 a.m., Yukon and I entered into a brand new world of parenting. A birth, of sorts.
Of course we're still Wolf's mom and step-dad; that sort of relationship will never change, as it will never change for any of us. Parents are parents no matter how old our kids grow to be. But this is different. Somebody is telling us, and him, we are in charge. Now, and for the duration of our lives.
We fill out a form for a birth certificate a day or so after our children are physically born to us, usually in the hospital. Yesterday's stack of forms felt the same, but attached was an overwhelming sense of relief (and anxiety) that Wolf has to rely on us for guidance in his near and far future (at least, for now).
Remember when you walked in the door with your newborn and just sort of stared at him or her, unsure of what exactly to do next? We feel that way today; carrying this new responsibility around with us the same as if it were a 7lb baby. It's crazy.
We're now (re) parents to a 6' 2", 167lb 18 year-old.