Not sure who was more nervous, the one taking the drivers test or the mother awaiting the results at the DMV. When each of my older children went for their driving test, I was anxious, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, the youngest was the most difficult.
Was he less prepared? No, probably more prepared than the others.
Perhaps the reason for my angst was that I cannot seem to view him objectively–not one bit. Each time I look at him behind the wheel, I picture a three year old pelting cheerios at the back of the car window, tossing his sticky sippy cup filled with apple juice on the floor, banging his white Stride Rite shoes against seat, and annoying his siblings at nearly ever moment.
Erin–16 and driving a car? Almost a man? No way–I look at him towering above me at 5’10” and still I don’t see it.
Yet, there we were, Blaise, Erin and I at the DMV –the day I secretly dreaded for years, the day the baby is undeniably more than a child, a young adult. My legs felt like jelly as we filled out the pre-testing forms and as soon as Blaise witnessed my wild eyes, the tightly stretched lips, he ordered me away from my son–“Go away! you are making him nervous.”
So I was relegated to the other side of my husband and he spoke the calming words of encouragement Erin needed to hear. “You will do fine. You are a great driver–remain confident, and smile.”
And he passed–and possibly more astounding: even the mother survived!
But as to the day I will feel confident allowing him out on a solo run–ahh, that could take awhile.