Like a punch in the gut
So y'all know Trey. The firstborn. Little man. My super-smart, chatterbox, crooked-eared, analytical, competitive and endlessly entertaining boy with the huge hazel eyes and mile-long eyelashes who first called me Mama.
Yeah, that one. We have our moments both good and bad, with most of the bad stemming from the fact that he's so much like me, except he's missing the pleaser element. But there is so much good. So much fun together playing and laughing and sharing knowledge. I love being his Mama.
He is so funny and loves making people laugh. There is always a song in his heart, and rest assured that whatever song is in his heart gets stuck in the rest of our heads for days at a time. Trey is faithful at his paying job, tagging Daddy's basketball video. Not as faithful at his schoolwork anymore - we've discovered procrastination and it's all too intriguing. Considers his brother a mortal enemy. Every so often, right out of the blue, volunteers to help with chores. Will very rarely initiate a hug, but doesn't fake-gag when one is offered. He's all about chicken and kitchen basketball and thanks to the steering wheel control he got for Christmas, his screen time is spent driving an eighteen-wheeler around Europe.
There is no one like this boy.
I know he's growing up. Really, I do. It's kind of hard to ignore now that he's up to my eyebrows. But he's still mine, and sometimes those memories of holding him as a baby, watching him toss those foam letters across a room before he could crawl to pick them up, hearing him sing himself to sleep in his crib, and so many more - those memories seem close enough to touch. He's my baby.
Maybe that's why it hurt so much to flip through his school folder last week and find this.
My heart jumped into my throat and I'm pretty sure I didn't breathe for three minutes because when I finally managed to squeak out the words, "middle school?" it came as a dry-mouth whisper. In one swift move I flew into his room, scooped him into my arms as much as one can do with someone who is the same size as they are, and plastered kisses all over his forehead in between cries of, "Middle school?" All the while poor Trey squirming and yelling, "Mom, ew! Get off me! What's wrong with you? Come on, Mom! This is gross!"
I knew it was coming. Really, I did. But now it's on paper, y'all. Which changes nothing, yet it changes everything.
Oh, my sweet boy. It's a good thing and such a hard thing, this growing up. We'll do the middle school tour and we'll shop only for tee-shirts that have nothing on them or come from American Eagle, Lord help us, and we'll watch him get even bigger and smarter. And I'll be even more of a hot mess than I am now, equal parts nervous and excited and morbidly terrified.
Holding tight, tight I tell you, to a decade of precious memories, and at the same time looking very much forward to making lots of new (and different) ones.
Until then...
Yeah, that one. We have our moments both good and bad, with most of the bad stemming from the fact that he's so much like me, except he's missing the pleaser element. But there is so much good. So much fun together playing and laughing and sharing knowledge. I love being his Mama.
He is so funny and loves making people laugh. There is always a song in his heart, and rest assured that whatever song is in his heart gets stuck in the rest of our heads for days at a time. Trey is faithful at his paying job, tagging Daddy's basketball video. Not as faithful at his schoolwork anymore - we've discovered procrastination and it's all too intriguing. Considers his brother a mortal enemy. Every so often, right out of the blue, volunteers to help with chores. Will very rarely initiate a hug, but doesn't fake-gag when one is offered. He's all about chicken and kitchen basketball and thanks to the steering wheel control he got for Christmas, his screen time is spent driving an eighteen-wheeler around Europe.
There is no one like this boy.
I know he's growing up. Really, I do. It's kind of hard to ignore now that he's up to my eyebrows. But he's still mine, and sometimes those memories of holding him as a baby, watching him toss those foam letters across a room before he could crawl to pick them up, hearing him sing himself to sleep in his crib, and so many more - those memories seem close enough to touch. He's my baby.
Maybe that's why it hurt so much to flip through his school folder last week and find this.
My heart jumped into my throat and I'm pretty sure I didn't breathe for three minutes because when I finally managed to squeak out the words, "middle school?" it came as a dry-mouth whisper. In one swift move I flew into his room, scooped him into my arms as much as one can do with someone who is the same size as they are, and plastered kisses all over his forehead in between cries of, "Middle school?" All the while poor Trey squirming and yelling, "Mom, ew! Get off me! What's wrong with you? Come on, Mom! This is gross!"
I knew it was coming. Really, I did. But now it's on paper, y'all. Which changes nothing, yet it changes everything.
Oh, my sweet boy. It's a good thing and such a hard thing, this growing up. We'll do the middle school tour and we'll shop only for tee-shirts that have nothing on them or come from American Eagle, Lord help us, and we'll watch him get even bigger and smarter. And I'll be even more of a hot mess than I am now, equal parts nervous and excited and morbidly terrified.
Holding tight, tight I tell you, to a decade of precious memories, and at the same time looking very much forward to making lots of new (and different) ones.
Until then...
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Thank you :)