If you could touch a mood, I'd wager the one in the Sullivan West cafeteria would have been warm and a bit squishy, akin to a hug from your favorite relative. Remember those?

Parents were everywhere, parents relieved to be walking their kids into a room where they could finally get their first COVID-19 vaccine. Even with masks covering their faces, their eyes betrayed their full on grins, and there was an unmistakable pep in their step.

As the mother of a child nearing their 16th birthday, I've been wrestling with my emotions since the FDA's first announcement that the Pfizer vaccine would be approved for kids as young as 16. Sixteen is a milestone age, the “sweet” age when they're almost adults but still kids. Looking forward to your child turning 16 is largely unheard of, and yet we began counting down the days.

Then another announcement. Kids as young as 12 could get the shot.

That meant my kid, my not-yet-16-year-old.

I went from counting days to counting hours to walking into a room and affirming yes, I am their mom, and yes, I give my very enthusiastic consent. All around me were parents doing the same, some baring their own arms for their own shots (my husband and I were long past that point ourselves).

Sure, we still have one more shot to go, but for parents in that room this marked a sort of beginning of the end of our year and a half long nightmare. The “will they or won't they” game of wondering if our kids will get sick or be carriers of a sickness is just about over.

One day soon they may even get to hug their favorite relatives.