As Donovan gets older the list of things I am not allowed to do grows longer. Things that seemed at times a chore have become golden relics now that they are no longer allowed.
No more walking to school with him.
No more making his lunch.
No more reading aloud.
No need to play on the playground with him any longer.
No more buying his clothes when he’s not there.
No more listening to my music because he has his own play list.
Last week he asked to shave his golden locks and I had to let him because it is his head, his hair, and his choice. At age eleven he knows what he wants and within reason and asked for respectfully he will get it.
He can’t be my baby forever, in fact it’s been ten long years since I held him in my arms on a daily basis, wrapping him up like a burrito to soothe his upset stomach and rocking him to sleep.
But as his jaw widens, his voice deepens, and he grows tiny hairs on his legs he should know that I will never forget a curly- headed, fat- cheeked, plump- toed little monster who used to talk to me in a voice that sounded like Alvin and one of the three chipmunks and asked questions like,
“ Will you be my valentine this Christmas?”
This past year the questions were different.
“You send a kid to K-5 and say, ‘You’re a big boy now’ but then they get to fourth grade and you say ‘You’re still my little boy’ and want me to sit on your lap. Which is it?”
It’s both so get over it.
So, son as you head into the churlish teenage years and become not only taller, heavier, and possibly smarter than I am remember that I too have a list and it is a list of things I CAN do.
I can check your electronic devices at a moment’s notice.
I can follow you without your permission.
I can make sure you are busy enough each summer to not get into trouble but free enough to use your imagination during those long summer days.
I can make you sit at the dinner table every night and partake in good food and conversations with your family.
I can choose your friends to some degree because let’s be honest I am the one who has to drive you to play dates.
And finally, I can still consider you my baby long after you actually are because you are the last baby of my own I will ever know.
I will miss each year as it passes while simultaneously looking forward to what each up-coming year has to offer and if every once in a while you catch me looking at you dreamily you will know that I am only remembering my curly headed baby boy of years past and as long as I don’t try to pick you up and rock you in front of your middle school then all will be well.
Deal?
About Rebecca Suder