My "baby", my first baby is over 12.5. He is closer to 13 than 12 now, though he still has 5 months to go.
Tonight, he had a nose bleed. He gets them frequently. It was about 10:00 and lasted about 20 minutes. Then he showered and finally went to bed. He turned on his humidifier, which helps with the nose stuff. I went downstairs now, to open a window in his room, so it doesn't get so humid and hot in there with the humidifier going. I almost walked out and then I stopped. I stopped and really looked at this boy. This boy, caught between not-fully-a-child and not-quite-a-man.
Tonight, he had a nose bleed. He gets them frequently. It was about 10:00 and lasted about 20 minutes. Then he showered and finally went to bed. He turned on his humidifier, which helps with the nose stuff. I went downstairs now, to open a window in his room, so it doesn't get so humid and hot in there with the humidifier going. I almost walked out and then I stopped. I stopped and really looked at this boy. This boy, caught between not-fully-a-child and not-quite-a-man.
He was stretched out on his single bed. He almost fills the whole thing. He looked huge, and yet sweetly vulnerable, as babies and children look when they're asleep. Parents love watching their kids sleep. I don't know why, but my heart melts into a big, goopy puddle when I see my kids sleeping. I was so taken with him lying there and I stood there for quite awhile.
How did my tiny, wee 6 pound, 4 ounce bundle turn into this giant, almost 100 pound person sleeping in his messy bed, clothes strewn all over his room, Lego figurines and creations still dotting his dresser and night table? I was struck with no words or thoughts for the emotion that is so intricately entwined with him being my baby and the image of him now as this person who is rapidly becoming a "grown up" size.
I find myself frightened and dreading the upcoming 5 or 6 years of his life. I don't want to be the mother of an adolescent. I want to be the mother of babies, toddlers, preschoolers. Even elementary age is pretty fun. I get anxious over all the things that could go "wrong" in these teenage years, particularly in our social media, electronic world. There is so much I cannot shield him from that wasn't even part of my reality growing up.
But sometimes, I get a small glimpse of who he might be someday. Sometimes, I am awe-struck that I was chosen by God to watch this boy (and eventually, his brother and sister) become grown-up humans. Oh, the grave responsibility, but the phenomenal gift of it all. Sometimes, that fear and worry and anxiety and joy and anticipation and amazement are all wrapped up in an overgrown boy-child sleeping peacefully in his bed, oblivious to the heart his mother puts into him, and oblivious to what his Heavenly Abba is building in him daily.
I love you, baby.
How did my tiny, wee 6 pound, 4 ounce bundle turn into this giant, almost 100 pound person sleeping in his messy bed, clothes strewn all over his room, Lego figurines and creations still dotting his dresser and night table? I was struck with no words or thoughts for the emotion that is so intricately entwined with him being my baby and the image of him now as this person who is rapidly becoming a "grown up" size.
I find myself frightened and dreading the upcoming 5 or 6 years of his life. I don't want to be the mother of an adolescent. I want to be the mother of babies, toddlers, preschoolers. Even elementary age is pretty fun. I get anxious over all the things that could go "wrong" in these teenage years, particularly in our social media, electronic world. There is so much I cannot shield him from that wasn't even part of my reality growing up.
But sometimes, I get a small glimpse of who he might be someday. Sometimes, I am awe-struck that I was chosen by God to watch this boy (and eventually, his brother and sister) become grown-up humans. Oh, the grave responsibility, but the phenomenal gift of it all. Sometimes, that fear and worry and anxiety and joy and anticipation and amazement are all wrapped up in an overgrown boy-child sleeping peacefully in his bed, oblivious to the heart his mother puts into him, and oblivious to what his Heavenly Abba is building in him daily.
I love you, baby.
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