My Son Moved Home After College; Am I His Roommate, Friend, or Mom?

“Who’s paying for this?” asked my 22-year-old son when I drove him to the mechanic to pick up his car after an oil change.

“You are,” I said without hesitation.

As I watched him walk into the office after I dropped him off, I shook my head in confusion. Why had he asked me who would pay? It was his car, after all, and he had been working full-time since graduating from college this spring and moving back home.

However, my husband and I had paid for car repairs when he was in college and wasn’t working. As I thought about it, he was still on our car insurance, too. With his entry-level job, it just made more financial sense than getting his own insurance, allowing him to save more money for his future.

I guess his question of who was paying for that oil change was more of a gray area than I first thought.

Since my son moved back home after graduation, I’ve been surprised by how confusing my role as a parent has become.

I play different roles in my son’s life now

Some days it feels like we’re roommates sharing a house. My son comes and goes on his own schedule, and entire days can go by without me seeing him.

I find this odd since he’s living in his childhood bedroom, and I expected our paths would cross daily. Instead, sometimes all I see is indirect evidence that he lives here, like a load of damp laundry abandoned in the dryer or snacks that disappear from the pantry with alarming speed.

Other times, it feels like we’re peers. We can be a couple of adults catching up after a long day at work, swapping stories about workplace shenanigans, or discussing world events. I like engaging with my son in this capacity, sharing life side by side as adults, and I know my husband does, too. He added our son to his trivia night team at the local pub, where he’s just another teammate. They watch and discuss all kinds of sports just like any pair of buddies would.

Then there are times I slip back into full-on parenting mode with my son. I’ve been nagging him for a couple of months to make a doctor’s appointment. The other day I asked him if he needed more toothpaste, and when he said yes, I bought him some at the store.

I’m still finding my footing with my adult son living at home

A simple question from him, such as what’s for dinner, can trigger an existential crisis. Of course, I’ll feed him, but didn’t I already pay my dues by making dinner for my family every night for the last 20 years?

My friend told me that she and her husband sometimes eat over the sink now that their kids are grown and out of their house. While that doesn’t sound gourmet, it does sound appealing and liberating to have no obligation to make dinner. And her story makes me question why I’m not moving on to the next phase of my life yet.

It’s not that living with my son is difficult; my happy-go-lucky kid is a joy to be around. It’s that I’m figuring out how our lives intersect as adults living in the same house.

I realize this stage is temporary and that once I adjust to this new normal, he’ll probably be ready to move out. Then I’ll miss him, our chats over dinner, watching him grow into the man he’s becoming, and even the damp load of laundry abandoned in the dryer.