Big Boy Blues

You’re four years old today. Halfway through your party you had a mini meltdown, the excitement was too much for you, your batteries were probably running a little low, so we headed to your room to hang out on the bed for a minute, just the two of us. You just wanted me to hold you, and you looked up at me, tears in your eyes, and said Mama, I’m still little. I guess hearing how you’re such a big boy now all day long must have scared you a little bit. You have no idea how much it scares me. If I could fold you up and turn you back into that black-haired baby, screaming at me in the OR four years ago, I would. In a New York minute.

When grown ups have babies they spend a fair amount of their time wishing for their babies to just grow up already, to sleep, to crawl, to walk, to eat independently… I never did, and I still don’t. There must be something wrong with me, but when you walked I was so proud of you, and yet I felt like you were taking your first steps away from me, even though you walked toward me. I don’t want you to grow up. But you will, you are, and all I can do for you is cheer you along and teach you some things and then stand on the sidelines, bated breath, and hope and pray that you grow up well, and that you’re happy and healthy.

It’s so frustrating and sad and joyous and exciting, this growing up think that you’re doing. So I said to you today, you’re still little, and you’ll always be my baby, even when you’re all grown up, but you’re also a big boy. You’re exactly right, right now, and I will love you all the way.

Happy Birthday darling boy, your smile lights up my life, you make my heart sing.