{I wrote this on T Bub’s birthday last week}
Here I am… sitting at the Water Park of America, watching my {newly} thirteen year old son. He wouldn’t be happy to know that I’m writing about him, to be sure. But this is the first time one of my kids has hit the teens, and I have to admit to being a little freaked out by that.
Okay… more than a little freaked out.
Why?
I just realized I’m past the halfway point. You know, the half way point of how long I get to keep him…
{Twenty-four hours old}
Although he’s already started making decisions for himself, he’s still mine until he turns eighteen. And if I had known how fast this time would fly, maybe I would have held on a little tighter…
{Five years old}
But I realize that my whole goal as a parent has been to teach him how to be an adult. MC and I have been teaching him to be responsible, thoughtful, caring… and a productive member of adult society. Together, we’re giving him the tools to be on his own one day.
{Nine years old}
Here’s where my heart screams: But that’s technically only five years away… And I’m not ready!
But my head knows how far he’s come: from a kindergartener that didn’t like to be touched, spent the day underneath his desk and couldn’t handle having his crayons out of order (or his Matchbox cars, or his trains), to a first grader with one loyal friend, to a nine year old who learned how to hug his grandparents (yes, learned how to hug. We worked on this for years…), to a thirteen year old that can converse with friends and not talk only about planes (or trucks or the Aerial Lift Bridge {long story}).
So here I am… sitting at the Water Park of America, and I can’t believe how lucky I am that I get to be this kid’s mom. And I’ll use this birthday as a reminder of how blessed I am to have been allowed on this journey with this awesome kid.
{Happy 13th Birthday, T Bub!}
