I had always thought there would be more time, but now I look and see you heading out the door, running to meet a friend, making plans for your now life. Your tall, lanky body blocks the sun streaming in from behind you. I look at you, amazed that this boy-child has turned into this young man.
You hover over me, your shoulders broad and strong, stretching farther apart each day, each month, each year. The top of my head easily fits beneath your chin, and I would rest there, holding you for days if given the chance, but you are busy, moving, going, fast motion, quickly growing out the door. You are not yet gone, but I miss you. There is still too much I want to say to you, to show you, to teach you, and the clock is tick-tick-ticking, and I cannot (would not) slow it down for there is much for you to live!
I miss the chubby arms wrapped tightly around my neck, the scent of boy and puppy dog mixed and mingled like a fragrant perfume wafting up from your sweaty little head. I miss the stories told about your day and your adventures. I miss the water-splashing bath-times and your many excursions under the sea, searching for “octutuses”. I hear your little boy voice purposefully deepening to mimic the voice of what you thought a “worker man” sounded like. I miss the green army men strewn about the house, remnants of the weird war battles waged with your daddy.
And soon, I know that I will miss these days—the days of constant demands, pressing school projects, arguments and make-ups, of music and sports and the need for excitement. I get so caught up in trying to figure out how to get you from boyhood to manhood successfully that I forget to enjoy and savor the beauty of who you are now. Too many wasted moments. I miss you already.
I am proud of this man you are becoming, independent and strong, but I want to keep you that little boy whose first word was mama and who thought I hung the moon. You loved me to the moon and back, to the moon and back, and bigger than the sky, and I liked you forever and loved you for always, and sang to you that “as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be”. Now my baby is growing, every day, taller, stronger, and wiser.
Because of you, I am a mama. I savor that word, twirling it on my tongue, holding it in my heart, loving it as it slips from your lips. The word means abundantly more than one who gives birth. In that same moment that I gave birth to my son, you birthed me as your mother. And just as you have daily grown as my child, my son, so have I grown daily as your mama. I have not always done everything right, often missing the mark by miles, but I have loved you before you breathed your first breath of air and it continues through (in spite of) our differences. You are my son forever. Thank you, for letting me be your mama, for letting me love you, and for you loving me. I am so very proud you.
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