The other day, as I nagged in my usual mom way, reminding Geddy of all he had to do, words of wisdom flowed from his mouth, catching my breath as I heard: "It's hard for you to remember that I'm growing."
Apologizing and biting my tongue, I said I would try to let him show me he can be responsible without my constant prodding. I'll try.
Because yes, my son, it's hard. I see you still as my baby, just as mothers do, even when my baby is not only walking and talking, but picking out his own clothes to wear and dressing himself in the mornings; pouring his own juice and cleaning up his spilled water; going to school and learning to read on his own. It's hard for me to see that you can make many of your own decisions now and that you have to experience mistakes and failure to grow. It's hard because I don't want you to grow up, and yet of course I do.
At the beginning of kindergarten I worried: what if he's still not ready? But, seven weeks in, he's showing Luke and me that now is just the right time. He comes home talking of new friends, new lessons learned, new games played. When I pick him up after school, his friendly voice calls out kids by name, telling them goodbye. He still needs help and guidance, but he's moving into this new phase of life with gusto.
And his vocabulary is growing quite nicely. Before bed the other night, as I sat in the dark of Geddy's room, singing his goodnight songs, I heard a bump.
"I hit my head on the wall."
"Ouch. Are you ok?"
"Cover your ears; I'm going to say a bad word."
"Oh really? Ok. Go ahead."
"Do you feel better?"
"Go to sleep. I love you."