I have to admit, I'm completely conflicted as I watch my son. I grow misty-eyed when I see little boys, especially, toddling around or running with abandon. The powdery smell of a baby makes me want to hold it forever. Many parents told me time goes so quickly, and while on one level, I knew what they meant, on another level, well, it goes quicker than I thought.
Now my son is 10, he's vacillating between cute little boy and smelly boy. We still hug and kiss (in private, of course), but the next day he wants nothing to do with me. Each day he's reminded to use his deodorant, and if he doesn't, well, he smells pretty bad. Tonight, he took all the glow-in-the-dark dolphins off his walls and fan, wanting a room that's darker to sleep in. I know he's growing up, but oh how hard it is!
Less frequently does he want us to tuck him in, and now I miss the nights of songs and stories and reading. A shouted, "good night" is all I get. At least I get that!
His homework load, while not quite rivaling mine, is large, and his backpack is larger. Heavier too. All this he shoulders with a body nearly as tall as mine. He walks like his dad, he sits like his grandfather. His voice changes a bit when he talks, losing its soft notes and gaining some gruffness.
We no longer talk about trains or cars or soft fuzzy animals. Gone are the dreams of being a firefighter-farmer-train conductor-construction worker. Now we share books and computers. He talks about fifth grade, middle school, high school, and college. He solves math problems I don't quite understand.
My son reads voraciously, and I'm glad, long novels, multi-chaptered tomes rather than books of rhyme and pictures, colors so bright. But sometimes, an urge creeps upon me to sneak in his room and read Goodnight Moon or Brown Bear, Brown Bear one more time. To cry at I'll Love you Forever and have him hug me.
My boy is developing, growing into his own person. My job is not done, but its description is changing. There are few directions, and mistakes are easy to make. Handholding is going, but guiding is growing. I miss the child but look forward to the adult.
