I’ve never been one to overly sentimentalize my son’s growth. Instead, I’ve cherished how, with each passing year, I’ve gotten to know him better. As he’s grown, he’s increasingly shown his true self. I was thrilled when he began talking, and the day he started reading felt like pure magic. I was in awe when he showed a passion for math problems.

I haven’t been the type of mom to cry at every birthday because my little boy is growing up, and honestly, I’ve sometimes felt guilty about that. It’s true that mom guilt is real, and social media often amplifies it. While K was undeniably adorable as a baby, I won’t lie—his first year was tough. He was a delightful toddler, but when he was finally able to carry his own suitcase through the airport, it was a total game changer.

For some reason, the days leading up to his 11th birthday are hitting me differently, and I’m not entirely sure why. It could be that I’m realizing how soon he’ll be moving on to live his own life, or perhaps it’s because I see the incredible person he’s becoming. I also sense that he’s reaching a developmental stage where he’s starting to want to spend more time with friends and less with us. While I understand this is a natural part of growing up, it still feels like a loss.

As he moves forward, I can’t help but question whether I’ve done enough for him. Have I taught him enough about life? Have I assured him that he can always come to me with anything? Have I shown him enough love to make sure he knows home is a safe haven? I believe I have, but, as any mom knows, guilt can be overwhelming.

Eleven years ago, I went to bed unaware that the next day I would meet an amazing person who would teach me more about myself than I ever imagined. Tonight, I go to bed knowing that each year he grows more into the independent person I hope he will become. Still, I must admit, my mom heart feels a bit of grief while also holding so much gratitude.