You watch her anxiously as she slowly climbs down the steps, longing to reach out to help her but understanding her need to be independent.

You lie awake at night alert for any sound that reveals her discomfort.

You feel the need to enter her room at all odd hours in the night to make sure that she is all right.

When she falls asleep, you gently come in and tuck a blanket around her, careful not to disturb her, knowing full well that she will get highly indignant at being treated like a baby.

Your heart is in your mouth as you watch her trying to get to a biscuit tin, balancing herself on a small stool. You admonish her when she leaves home without a sweater, afraid that she will catch a cold.

You worry when she decides to spend the night in a friend's place.
You pace up and down in front of the telephone waiting to know whether she has arrived there safely. You are scared to ring up because you don't want her to think that you are being unnecessarily fussy.

You fret when she refuses to go to the doctor or take her medicines on time.
You need to keep reminding her to take care of herself - to eat properly, to take rest whenever possible and look after her health.

You protectively put your arm around her in a crowd, even though she may resent your need to mollycoddle her. You insist that she must not go out walking all alone in the dark. Even though she protests, you make sure that someone accompanies her.

You have a war of wills every time she goes on a journey. You ply her with all kinds of instructions on not talking to strangers, on getting down in railway stations and not accepting food from any Tom, Dick or Harry.

You are hurt by her persistent need for independence as you feel that she is not in a position to take care of herself.

You accuse her of being stubborn and not listening to well- meaning advice. You feel that she is being deliberately contrary in order to get her back at you.

You alternate between periods of vexation and patience as you come to terms with her sudden whims and fancies. You feel like the lowest of the low as you see her face crumpling up at your display of anger for having done something that she was not supposed to do.

As you advice her for the nth time to take things slowly, to take some much needed rest, her irritation spills over and she snaps " I don't need your advice. I can look after myself. I am not a kid. For god's sake, I am your mother."

And then it hits homes to you. You wonder at the quick passage of time. When did it all start and that too so subtly? The role reversal, the change in equation between the mother and the child. When does parenting the parent begin?

As I ponder these questions, I start climbing down the stairs and suddenly I feel a hand slipping into mine and guiding me down the steps. It is my eighteen-year-old son who impatiently tells me "Mom, walk slowly, don't run."

Is it time already? Has my turn come? Has life come a full circle? I wonder….

VINA SHANKAR

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