Ask high-end people to translate the full text.

"They grow up too fast," everyone told me. Eighteen years later, I finally understood what they meant.

The summer vacation is coming to an end, and my son has gone out with friends. Ten minutes after he left home, I received his text message: Here we are. This is the same message I have received hundreds of times before-the abbreviation we agreed to comfort me, and maybe he, in some way that has not yet been tested, has arrived at his destination safely. In a few days, he will go to college, and this kind of daily life, along with many other lives that frame us day and night, will come to an end. Reading this passage triggered a safely stored image in my memory, which is a small page-turning book about our common life.

My faithful partner of nine months appeared with wide eyes. He's in my Chester. I felt his heartbeat reverse (bounce, reflex) through mine. I only saw the beginning. My friend visits because time is invisible. He will grow faster than I thought and enjoy every moment. But I can't hear them; This is so old-fashioned, my child has just been born. He is intoxicating: the beautiful bracelet-like wrinkles on his wrist make him sound like a lamb when he cries. I am full of new sense of purpose, hope and love. The first few months after his birth were upside down-day was night and night was day. When sleep finally came back, so did work. My suit is tight and my mind is in a mess. I milked milk in a cold, gray bathroom stall.

His teeth began to appear. Bottles give way to solid food. He pointed to the clock on the wall above his chair. "Clock," he said. This is his first word, and there is no "L", which makes me laugh. Soon he will be able to walk, jump and pile angels in the snow.

I got a promotion at work. It's hard to find time to date a pediatrician. At lunch, I read some books about Nurt. Teach and inspire your children. He called my office with the help of the nanny. "Mom," he said, "I'm making you a present."

The tooth fairy came and left him a handwritten note. He found knocking jokes and learned how to add, subtract and read. He built a huge castle with huge Lego bricks, rode a shiny bike on the country road, and left his feet off the pedal.

I quit my job to become a freelance writer-from training programs to marketing brochures (brochures) to papers-which is what other people in my family generally do. Sleeping. Money will never be enough, but now at least we have time.

Saturday night is always a family night, spent at home. There are countless sports events. He tried baseball, football and track and field, and then fell in love with basketball. He swung from branch to branch, dressed as a superhero, and developed infatuation, friendship and fanaticism.

I volunteer in his school: cutting, pasting, reading, raising, raising money and accompanying. I like this job.

There are marathon bedtime story ceremonies, endless questions about how things work, and monsters under the bed. Lego blocks are getting smaller and smaller, and castles are getting more and more complicated. He tried playing guitar, playing trombone, saving 25 cents to buy video games, collecting trading cards and putting them in a shoe box under the bed.

We have a dog. He loves the dog with all his heart. Dogs love him too.

One day he surpassed me in height, and it seems that he surpassed his father the next day.

He read an article written by a sports reporter. This lit the fire in his heart. He started writing his own things, and when I tried to juggle (juggle, cheat) freelancer tasks, he came into my office.

I am honored to read his works.

The orthodontics were removed, revealing a straight pearly white. His first job was as a baseball referee, but he hoped to be a writer.

He learned to wash clothes, scrub the bathroom and make spaghetti, although he often claimed to forget how to do these three things.

He is 18 years old.

On a cold and rainy election day, we went to vote together. After waiting in line for two hours, he was the only teenager who could see. He didn't forget-by the next morning, he had written all the contents.

He got a job as a blogger and then set up his own website. At the same time, there are macroeconomics, physics and university applications.

The page-turning book has turned to the last few pages.

18 years I defined myself as a mother. Who am I now? I looked in the mirror. In the process of helping him grow wings, I forgot to grow some myself. Can I find a new goal, change the direction of love?

Before I became a mother, I was a daughter, full of vitality and wordless assurance that my parents would always be there. But I can't be a daughter anymore. I can only rely on myself.

Do goals-mine, yours, anyone's-need someone to cultivate them? Or is it innate to all of us?

I will soon test these competing theories.

When I sat down to write this article, I received his short message: Where are you?

Here, I reply to text messages.

For now.

"They grow up too fast," everyone told me. Eighteen years later, I finally understood what they meant.

The summer vacation is coming to an end, and my son and friends are out. Ten minutes after he left home, I received his words: Here we are. This is the same message I have received hundreds of times before-the abbreviation we agreed to comfort me. Maybe he is still a little confused, and he arrived at his destination safely. In a few days, he will go to college, and this procedure, as well as many other people who framed us day and night, will come to an end. Reading the text triggers the storage to stay safely in my memory, a small image of turning over a book, and we live together.

My nine-month-old companion often appears with wide eyes. He put it on my chest. I felt his heartbeat echoing in the mine. What I saw was just the beginning. A friend who visited warned that time is unpredictable, and he will grow faster than I thought, and savor every moment. But I can't hear their voices; It's all so old-fashioned. My child just arrived. He is exciting: the beautiful bracelet-like crease on his wrist makes him sound like a lamb when he cries. I am full of love, purpose and hope. After that, the first few months of his birth were upside down-it was night, and night was day. When sleep finally came back, there was no job. I have a straight suit and my mind is full of worries. Pumping milk in the cold and gloomy bathroom.

His teeth began to appear. Bottles give way to solid food. He pointed to the clock on the high chair on the wall. "Clock", he said. This is his first word, minus the "L", which makes me laugh. Soon, he can walk, jump rope and pile snow angels.

I advocate it in my work. It is difficult to find time to play together and date with pediatricians. At lunch, I read books that nurture, educate and inspire children. He called my office with the help of the nanny. "Mom," he said, "I want to give you a present."

The tooth fairy came and left his handwritten notes. He found knocking at the door, telling jokes and learning how to add, subtract and read. He built huge castles and huge blocks, galloped on the national highway by bike, and left his feet off the pedals.

I quit my job and started writing freelance-from training programs, marketing brochures (pamphlets) to papers-usually when everyone else at home is sleeping. Money will never be enough, but at least now we still have time.

Saturday night is always a family night, spent at home. There are countless sports events. He tried baseball, football, track and field, and then landed in Infinite Love of Basketball. He swung from branch to branch, dressed as superman, and developed infatuation, friendship and fanaticism.

My wish, in his school: cut, paste, read, raise, raise money, partner. I like this job.

There are marathon bedtime story ceremonies, endless questions about how things work, and monsters under the bed. Lego works become smaller and castles become more complicated. He tried the guitar, played the trombone, saved three-quarters of the money on video games and collected trading cards, that is, the shoe box he kept under the bed.

We have a dog. He likes this kind of dog very much. He is heart and soul. Dogs like him.

One day, his height surpassed mine, as if his father's height was next.

He read an article written by a sports reporter. It makes a fire for him. He started writing his own things and strolled into my office because I tried to play (juggle, cheat) and distribute them for free.

I am honored to have read his works.

Orthodontic removal, revealing straight pearl white. He won his first salary as a baseball referee, but he hopes to be a writer forever.

He learned to wash clothes, scrub the bathroom and make spaghetti, although he often claimed to forget how to cook three kinds of food.

He is 18 years old.

On a cold and rainy election day, we went to vote together. After waiting in line for two hours, he was the only teenager who could see. It's as good as he is-he wrote everything about it the next morning.

He got a job as a blogger and set up his own website. During this period, there are macroeconomics, physics and university applications.

Turn the book to the last few pages.

I define myself as the mother of 18 years. Who am I? I looked in the mirror. In the process of helping him grow wings, I forgot to plant some myself. I can find a new feeling of goal, a new love.

I used to be a mother, I was a daughter, full of vitality and potential confidence, and my parents will always exist. But I can't be a daughter anymore. I can only rely on myself.

Does this goal-mine, yours, anyone's-need someone to nourish it? Or is it innate to all of us?

I will soon test these competing theories.

When I sat down to write this article, I received his words: Where are you?

Here, I recite the text.

At present.

Seek adoption