"They grow up too soon," everyone told me. Eighteen years later, I finally understand what they meant.
It's nearly the end of summer break and my son goes out with friends. Ten minutes after he leaves home, I receive his text: Here. It's the same message I've received hundreds of times before -- our agreed-upon shorthand to reassure me, and probably him, in some still-unexamined way, that he has arrived safely at his destination. In a matter of days he'll head to college, and this routine, along with many others that have framed our days and nights, will come to an end. Reading that text triggers images stored safely away in my memory, a tiny flip book of our lives together.
My constant companion of nine months emerges with his eyes wide open. He's placed on my chest. I feel his heartbeat reverberating（回弹，反射） through mine. All I see are beginnings. Friends who visit caution that time is elusive（难懂的） , that he'll grow up faster than I can imagine, and to savor every moment. But I can't hear them; it's all too clichéd and my child has only just arrived. He's intoxicating: the beautiful bracelet-like creases in his wrists, the way he sounds like a little lamb when he cries. I'm filled with a renewed sense of purpose, of hope, of love. The first few months after he's born are topsy-turvy -- day is night, night is day. When sleep finally returns, so does work. My business suit is tight, my mind preoccupied. I pump milk in a cold, gray bathroom stall.
His teeth begin to appear. Baby bottles give way to solid foods. He points high above his chair to the clock on the wall. "Clock," he says. It's his first word, minus the "l," and it makes me laugh. Soon he is walking, skipping, making angels in the snow.
I'm promoted at work. It becomes harder to find the time to make playdates（上映期） and pediatrician（儿科医师） appointments. At lunch I read books about nurturing, teaching, inspiring your child. He calls my office with the help of his babysitter. "Momma," he says, "I'm making you a present."
The tooth fairy arrives and leaves him handwritten notes. He discovers knock-knock jokes and learns how to add, subtract, and read. He builds giant castles with giant Legos, rides his shiny bike down a country road with his feet off the pedals.
I quit my job to do freelance writing -- everything from training programs to marketing brochures（小册子） to essays - usually when the rest of the family is sleeping. There's never enough money, but now at least we have time.
Saturday nights are always family nights, spent at home. There are countless sporting events. He tries baseball, soccer, and track, then falls head over heels for basketball. He swings from tree limbs, wears superhero costumes, develops crushes, friendships, and fevers.
I volunteer at his school: cut, paste, read, nourish, fund-raise, chaperone. I like this job.
There are marathon bedtime story rituals, endless questions about how things work, and monsters under the bed. Lego pieces grow smaller and castles more intricate. He tries the guitar, plays the trombone, saves quarters to buy video games, and collects trading cards, which he keeps in a shoe box under his bed.
We get a dog. He loves this dog with all his heart. The dog loves him back.
One day his height surpasses mine and, seemingly the next, his father's.
He reads an essay by a sportswriter. It lights a fire in him. He starts to write his own stuff, wandering into my office as I try to juggle（杂耍，欺骗） freelance assignments.
I feel privileged to read his work.
Orthodontics are removed to reveal straight pearly whites. He earns his first paycheck as a baseball referee（裁判员） but wishes that it had been as a writer.
He learns to do the laundry, scrub the bathroom, and make pasta, though he often professes to forget how to do all three.
He turns 18.
On a cold and rainy Election Day we head out together to vote. After two hours waiting in line, he's the only teen in sight. It's not lost on him -- by the next morning he has written all about it.
He gets a job as a blogger, then starts his own website. And all the while there are macroeconomics（宏观经济学） , physics, and college applications.
The flip book's down to its last pages.
I've defined myself as a mother for 18 years. Who am I now? I look in the mirror. In my quest to help him grow wings, I forgot to grow some of my own. Can I find a new sense of purpose, rechannel the love?
Before I was a mother I was a daughter, infused with energy and the unspoken reassurance that my parents would always be there. But I can't be a daughter again. I'm on my own.
Does purpose -- mine, yours, anyone's -- require someone to nurture it, or is it inherent in all of us?
I'll soon be putting these competing theories to the test.
As I sit down to write this piece, I receive his text: Where are you?
Here, I text back.
For now.
“他们长大得太快，”每个人都告诉我了。十八年后，我终于明白了他们的意思。
这是近暑假的结束和我的儿子外出与朋友。他离家十几分钟后，我收到他的文字：在这里。这是我之前已经收到了上百次同样的信息 - 我们商定的简写安慰我，也许他在某些仍然浑浑噩噩地，他曾在他的目的地安全到达。在几天之内，他会去上大学，而这个程序，以及其他许多人已经陷害我们的日日夜夜，将告一段落。阅读文本触发存储安全离开在我的记忆中，微小的翻转书我们生活在一起的图像。
我常九个月的同伴出现，他睁大眼睛。他放在我的胸口。我感觉他的心跳过矿回荡（回弹，反射）。我所看到的是开端。朋友谁访问警告说，时间是难以捉摸（难懂的），他会成长的速度比我能想象，并细细品味每一刻。但我不能听到他们的声音;这一切都太老套，我的孩子才刚刚赶到。他是令人兴奋的：在他的手腕美丽的手镯状的折痕，他听起来像是一只小羊羔的方式时，他哭。我充满爱与目的的重新认识，希望，。之后他出生的头几个月都是颠三倒四 - 那天是晚上，夜晚是一天。当睡眠最后返回，所以没有工作。我的西装很紧，我的脑海里心事重重。 í泵奶在寒冷的，灰色的卫浴间。
他的牙齿开始出现。婴儿奶瓶让位给固体食物。他指着高高的椅子在墙上的时钟。 “时钟”，他说。这是他的第一个字，再减去“L”，它让我发笑。不久，他是步行，跳绳，在造雪天使。
我提倡在工作中。它变得很难找到时间做一起玩（上映期）和儿科医生（儿科医师）约会。午餐时我读到培育，教学，激发孩子的书籍。他与他的保姆的帮助下叫我的办公室。 “妈妈，”他说，“我让你一个礼物。”
牙齿仙女到达和离开他的手写笔记。他发现敲门敲笑话和学习如何进行加，减，和阅读。他建造巨型城堡巨积木，骑自行车闪亮下来一个国家的道路，他的脚离开踏板。
我辞掉工作做自由写作 - 从培训计划，营销手册（小册子），以散文 - 通常是当家里的其他人正在睡觉。还有从来没有足够的钱，但至少现在我们还有时间。
周六晚上总是家庭之夜，在家里度过的。有无数的体育赛事。他试图棒球，足球和轨道，然后落在情海篮球。他从树枝摆动，穿着超人服装，发展击碎，友谊和发烧。
我的志愿，在他的学校：剪切，粘贴，读，滋养，基金募，伴侣。我喜欢这份工作。
有马拉松睡前故事的仪式，对事物是如何工作的无穷无尽的问题，并在床底下的怪物。乐高作品变得更小和城堡更复杂。他试图吉他，玩长号，节省了四分之三购买视频游戏，并收集交易卡，这是他一直在他床底下的鞋盒子。
我们得到了一个狗。他很喜欢这种狗用他所有的心脏。狗喜欢他。
有一天，他的身高超过我的，，貌似接下来，他父亲的。
他读一篇文章，由体育记者。它生火他。他开始写他自己的东西，游荡到我的办公室，因为我试图玩弄（杂耍，欺骗）自由分配。
我觉得有幸读过他的作品。
正畸去除，露出笔直珍珠白。他赢得了他的第一张薪水为棒球裁判（裁判员），但希望它一直作为一个作家。
他学会了洗衣服，擦洗浴室，并面食，虽然他经常自称忘记怎么做三个。
他年满18岁。
在一个寒冷多雨的选举日，我们前往了一起投票。两个小时后排队等候，他在视线中唯一的青少年。它不输于他 - 在第二天早上他还撰写了有关它的一切。
他得到了一份工作作为一个博客，然后开始了自己的网站。而这段时间也有宏观经济学（宏观经济学），物理和大学申请。
翻转书的下到了最后几页。
我定义了自己作为一个母亲18年。我是谁呢？我看着镜子。在我的追求，以帮助他成长的翅膀，我忘了种植一些我自己的。我能找到目标的新感觉，rechannel的爱？
以前我是一个母亲，我是个女儿，充满能量和潜放心，我的父母会永远存在。但我不能再是一个女儿。我只能靠自己了。
难道目的 - 我的，你的，任何人的 - 需要有人来滋养它，或者是它固有的我们所有的人？
我会很快把这些相互竞争的理论来检验。
当我坐下来写这篇文章，我收到他的文字：你在哪里？
在这里，我背课文。
目前。
求采纳