It's hard to believe that my baby, my first born, thinks I am a super-uncool-lame-ass mom. That my once 'little man', who would call me mommy and would come running into my arms for me to kiss his owies, because I was the only one who could make it all okay, now calls me a single syllable, mom.
He shrugs me off when he is hurt now.
Heaven forbid his MOM embarrass him by coddling and comforting his owie. That my sweet, doe-eyed boy has turned into a rugged, rough and tumble boy. In every sense of the word and meaning.
A boy.
I guess I never really grasped the full meaning of what it would be like to be a mom of a boy - a mom of a little soldier, powering through life. But the day has arrived. I have watched him run off into the woods with other little soldiers - toy guns in their back pockets and an arsenal of rocks in their jackets.
I had the urge to run after him and spy from behind a tree - just to make sure he was okay. Instead I stood and smiled on after him. The first of many times watching from the sidelines-
Watching him ride his bike off by himself-
Watching him walk into a movie theater on his first date-
Watching him drive away in his car-
Watching him graduate from high school and then go off to college-
Watching him walk down the aisle with his bride-
Watching him hold his first born baby...
Whoa.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment