When your child decides you are embarrassing (and you are not ready), you are surplus to requirements.

Let us discuss formally being uncool.

Is There an Invisible Line I Crossed?

There must have been a precise, blink-and-you-miss-it moment when I transitioned from reassuring presence to embarrassing liability. When did I turn into the embarrassing mother, I wonder? I should still be the VIP, the superhero, and the peanut butter to his jelly at six years old, right? However, no. I crossed over somewhere between the commotion of Pokémon trivia, school drop-offs, and constant snacking.

And I did not even anticipate it.

I guess I have been on borrowed time, to be fair. The indications were all there: the slight side-eye when I sang in the car, the declining interest in cuddling, and the growing preference for YouTube characters over my bedtime stories.

Between Thomas the Tank Engine and abandoned Lego pieces, the hierarchy of devotion has gradually changed from mum = the greatest thing since sliced bread to mum = bearable background noise.

The Debacle of the Birthday Party

The last straw occurred on a Friday afternoon during my niece's seventh birthday celebration, which was filled with cupcakes, balloons, and the unsaid nervousness of kids navigating new social situations. I am always the helicopter on standby, and since my boys do not get to see their cousins very frequently, I saw what I thought was trepidation from my oldest. I entered the fray just enough to give him a gentle prod, a smile, and a link to the enjoyment because I wanted to assist him ease in.

A gaze that might have curdled milk was directed at me.

"Go away!" he growled, his gaze flashing as if I had just entered the stage in my dressing gown in the middle of a performance. I was suddenly surplus to requirements, at least in public. I am still on speed dial for locating socks, getting snacks, and resolving disputes at home, but what about out there? I had entered hostile territory.

When "Mummy" Turns Into Something Horrible

When I was tucking him in that night, I asked him what he meant when he told me to leave him alone (because I asked, of course, why not add salt to the wound?). Without hesitation, he said, "Because you were embarrassed."

It was there. Plain. Undeniable. Soul-crushing.

Nor is it an isolated instance. Avoid holding hands close to football practice. No drawn-out farewells at the gate. And do not even consider showing affection in public.

He reminds us that the dynamic is changing with each small boundary he draws. When I spoke too loudly, the adorable koala that used to cling to my thigh now hides behind it.

Clinging frantically to the "uncool" category, I feel as though I am falling off the Top Gear Cool Wall and hoping that I do not fall into the "really uncool" abyss.

Lamenting the Small Farewells

I understand logically that this is a requirement of the job. Being a parent is a slow, lovely unraveling. They will feel more comfortable pushing away the more you adore them. It still hurts. Nobody tells you that the true grief lies in the quiet, inconspicuous farewells—the muttered "I love yous" that are reserved for indoors, the kisses that turn into head nods, 

I am not prepared. Not for this. Not quite yet.

Making an effort to remain cool, or at least semi-frozen

Now what? In the hopes of delaying the inevitable a bit further, I hover on the brink of coldness. Like rare gems, I cherish the last kisses I get on the playground and the occasional unplanned snuggle. And even when I feel like I am more than needed, I try to keep in mind that I am still the support system for the entire thing.

He could look back and realize how hard I tried when he was older, wiser, and hopefully a little less embarrassed by my own existence. Not to remain cool, but to be sufficiently near without causing him to lose his freedom.

I will continue to show up till then. I will continue to provide assistance even if it is turned down. When he forgets, I will continue to covertly pack his snacks, wash his socks, and wipe the crumbs off his chin. Because I am completely irreplaceable in his heart, even though I may not seem cool in public. For the time being, however.