It is pouring rain outside at the moment, the weather matching my mood. I am expecting a group of seven-and eight-year old children to arrive in an hour for the boy’s eighth birthday party. A “pre-historic party,” dinosaurs are back on his radar yet again. We have T-Rex’s encased in ice (thanks Pinterest), cupcakes with bowls of candy so that we can decorate them to look like dinosaurs, and other than that we were going to play games outside, so I am out of luck here. Every other “dinosaur” themed idea I came up with was immediately shot down with “that’s too babyish.” Sigh…I give up.
I started writing this column six years ago when my sweet boy had just turned two years old, TWO! What a humongous difference the two ages are; my two-year-old loved cars, dinosaurs (some things have come back around), his Sippy cup, pacifier, Transformers (again, an ageless toy), his Mommy, snuggling with me on the couch, footie pajamas – he had curls around a chubby little face that was perpetually pink when he awoke from his naps (what’s a nap again?) his sweet morning breath in my face tugged on my heart daily, it actually ached. At eight he loves all things scientific, learning new concepts, math (shudder), his school, his teacher and his friends. He loves dinosaurs, but from a new perspective, still loves Transformers and in his words is “super stoked” to see the new movie with his dad (I am merely permitted to come along now); he loves to read – everything. Girls are still gross, so is his breath now (sorry kid), and he refuses to get his hair cut even the tiniest bit. He has the whole shaggy look going on right now (he is sooo cool).
He’s in-between right now. At night, when I put him to bed, is the only time when he will really talks to me. I listen so intently, taking it all in because I know that tomorrow he might not want to tell me anything anymore. I almost cried recently when I noticed that the little ring of baby fat around his little wrist was no longer there – where did it go? I missed it – it left and I missed it! He’s growing up so fast and right before my eyes he is turning into a pre-teen (believe me when I say you can smell pre-teen a mile away, it starts with the arm pits – gag). He still needs me but then again he doesn’t. This growing up thing is really hard and I literally can see the battle waging inside of him. Poor little dude.
He is my serious, sweet, kind, moody, goofy boy. Boys are so vulnerable in a way that girls are not. Girls show it – boys hide it. It makes it more dangerous I think. I love him so very, very much, it hurts. He is mine and I am his. I watch as he grows and can’t believe my eyes. I am so very proud of him and want to stop time so that I can enjoy him, because there are times that I can’t even remember what he sounded like as a toddler anymore and that frightens me. I just have to hold on to each moment as it comes and enjoy it, and that is exactly what I intend to do.
Happy Birthday, my most wonderful boy.