I'm desperately grasping at answers that don't exist. I have a death grip on his childhood and I'm getting weak. It feels like yesterday that he told me he was going to be a rockstar when he grows up and get me front row seats to all his concerts. Now he's asking to go to Middle School parties and dances and all I want to do is lock him in a bubble. Maybe as a last ditch effort to freeze time. It's getting harder and harder to keep him innocent. Girls are starting to notice those brown eyes and I can only hope they don't melt the way I do when they gaze into them. I don't know how much longer I can convince him that all girls have cooties.
He's a social guy and loves football games and parties. I loved those things too when I was his age so I can easily talk myself down from the cliff there. Recently he told me he preferred American Eagle over the Nike store and that's when a tiny part of me slipped into depression.
LITTLE BOYS LOVE THE NIKE STORE!
Teenagers like America Eagle. I just can't.
I'm trying super hard to live in the moment and not think about how this time next year he will most likely be taller than me. Every milestone up to this point has been something to celebrate but I'm petrified of the teen years. All I can hope is that I'm prepared. That as his parents, we are equipped to handle this hurricane a brewing. When his voice cracks for the first time how will I compose myself? I'm dead serious. I love his little boy voice. I'll cry when it's gone.
I'm publicly promising myself to remain calm. He's growing up and I can't do anything about it. Rockstar or not, I'll always be in the front row cheering my guts out for this kid. Even though I often disagree, I'm honored God thinks I was the right choice to raise him.
|That boy on the mound.|