Baby photos. Baby toys. Baby shoes. Baby clothes. All things baby. Until you don’t have a baby anymore. One day you look at your baby and he’s eight or nine or thirteen. You think: “My God when did he grow up?” But one look upon his sleeping angelic face, and he’s back to being your baby again.
His pants are too short. His shoes are too tight. His winter jacket is too small. He doesn’t play with Legos, plastic animals, nor Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures. You box up the old and unwrap the new, moving into the next season of your child. Now, you have all this stuff in a forsaken pile in the basement.
Your boy goes off to elementary school, then middle school, then high school. He become a tween, a teenager and a high school graduate. He goes off into the world to explore and discover it on his own terms. He thrives. Your heart and body aches. You hang onto every age for as long as you can. And then you must let go, too.
“Mom, I’ll always be your baby,” James says, one night. I smile and kiss him, knowing that he’s absolutely right.
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This post is part of the #YourTurnChallenge #day4–and it’s my best work today.
Comments
I love the process of children growing up. Every day creates a new memory that becomes part of my yesterdays. At each new milestone or achievement my children make, I find myself in awe of the new maturity or skill and compare this new person to the previous version. “I remember your first words.” “I remember when you jumped off the swings at the playground.” “I remember your first date.” “I remember the first time you took the car by yourself with a new license in your pocket.” “I remember the first photo of you with your new baby.” Each time this happens I feel a fresh warmth that’s much the same as all the previous ones. I hope it never ends.
Author
Me too! You said it well, my friend.