40 whole weeks plus a lifetime of moments
Last night, I came home from my book club meeting and my husband tells me that my eleven year old son wants to learn about football... the best players.... the best teams... the worst teams... etc. All the boys at school are talking about their favorite football players and whatnot and he wants to be a part of the conversation and have his own input. My husband gave him two of his fantasy football magazines and my son started to read them last night.
My son has never cared that much about professional sports, so this news baffled me and then the wine I had had kicked in and suddenly, I felt all sentimental and smooshy.
The simple act of my child wanting to study football made me realize that he's turning into a 'real boy'. He’s not just my little baby anymore- with strings to guide him. He wants to form his own opinions and play part in grown up conversations. My son was sleeping when I got home, so I popped my head in there to kiss him good night.
I laid there with him for a minute or two... just watching him. and in that minute or two, I saw the moment he was born... all tiny and perfect.... and then when he turned two... and those little fat cheeks and goofy haircut that couldn't detract from the light and spirit in his big, curious green eyes,... and then when he was four and we threw a big bounce house party and no kids came.... and how he didn't care..... and when daycare school picture day was on September 11, 2001 and how I had to make sure his hair looked cute as I focused on the TV watching the twin towers collapse and he asked me what was going on... and that time he picked me a purple flower from someone's yard because he thought it was pretty like me.... and then his first day of kindergarten.... and his first oral book report..... and when he taught me about the universe and stars..... and when he showed me the difference in the tail lights from a 1972 corvette vs. a vette from 1975..... and that one time I was doing dishes and the bubbles were all sudsy and a tiny little bubble escaped from the sink and floated up into the air and he reached out and poignantly said "it's my souuul".
All these things entered my mind and I watched him sleep so peacefully and as the skin of my cheek brushed against his shoulder as I tried to get a closer look at his lovely face, I wondered how much longer I have to hear him say 'love you mommy' or 'I’ll give you 1000 kisses if you let me have an oatmeal crème pie" [I should really start accepting his offer while it's on the table before I regretfully wish I had stocked up on kisses].
My thoughts shifted to my 9-year old daughter.
How much longer will my daughter still want to hold my hand in public?
Or look over while she plays soccer to make sure I’m paying attention to her?
How long before she starts to lock her bedroom door for privacy or starts to hide her diary?
How long before I hear the words "I hate you!" as my child storms out of the room and I just have to sit there and remind myself 'you knew this day was coming.....'
This is why I WOULD want another baby.
As if to stop time.
Then I remember that it will be the same thing all over again.
I can't end up with 14 children.
*sigh*
