Seven

Dear Jack,

In just a few short hours you will be seven.  Seven!  My heart!   These years of ours just fly.  You, my little man, with your simple presence in the world, have somehow managed to accelerate time.  You grow so fast, and life hurtles by so fast, I hardly have time to notice that we're all getting older.  But on this night, I remember.  And my only sadness is that I cannot find a way to stretch these years out, to make your childhood linger, to drink up this time with you.

Seven!

Who knew.

I wasn't ever going to have kids, you know.   At least, that's what I told myself in college.  I was too busy living my own life.  Gloriously free and searching madly for my purpose and I wasn't about to be tied down to something so mundane as motherhood.

I am so glad I changed my mind.

Certainly, my sweet, there are moments that are mundane, times I feel tied down. Most of them have to do with laundry and dishes.   And there were more than a few memorable moments of mommy-angst in your early years, my sweet one who did not like sleep schedules.

But there are also moments that are sublime.  Like tonight, watching you lean over the August-lush sidewalk gardens on Somerton, carefully, earnestly pollinating flowers with your finger.  Or like every time you reach out to hold my hand.  Like the golden-glow memories of the weight of you, 8 weeks old, curled on my chest and smelling of milk and softness, the feeling that those days would last forever.

But they didn't.  Because somehow, you are seven.  I blinked, and my baby was gone.

In his place-- this boy.  This lanky, broad shouldered boy, strong and tan, blonde-tipped hair brushing his forehead.  When I look at your back I can see the young man you will become.  But when I look at your eyes, your pursed-lip ornery smile, your dimple-- I see the echo of my baby in there still.  You are somewhere in between, trying to figure out who to be.

At seven, Jack, you are still, as ever, my sensitive and serious boy.  You set high expectations for yourself and disappointment hits you hard.  You are competitive and you love card games and board games-- as long as you win.  You have become quite a reader, tackling books well above grade level.  You like fantasy series and mysteries, and you'll read for an hour in a book you enjoy-- but you don't like to talk about the books you read.  You tell us to read it ourselves...  You love nature and animals and you want to be a pet shop owner when you grow up, sure and certain of this ambition as you have been for almost a year.  You love video games with a mad passion, with Dungeon Keeper and Minecraft being current favorites.  You've become a voracious eater, as long as the foods are on your preferred list-- mac n cheese, pepperoni sandwiches, chicken, carrots, chips and salsa.  You have a sweet tooth and you love saving and spending money.  You think hard about decisions.  You love to antagonize your sister.  You have the sweetest singing voice when you think no one is listening.

You are easily embarrassed these days, and sometimes you shrug off our hugs and affection in a heartbreaking foretaste of teenage years to come.  But then a moment later, you are launching yourself into an embrace, clinging to my waist, giggly and silly and just a little tiny boy again.

A great big little boy, that is.  You are almost to my shoulder and I can't carry you any more.  Imagine, my little baby that never let me put him down. Now you walk confidently ahead.  You have asked, now that you are seven, if you can ride your  bike around the corner without us.  I have said yes.

I feel like you are all grown up.

I am grateful that you're not.

I've got a few more years to keep working on slowing down time.  I'm going to try my best.  And at the very least I'm going to try to soak up all the moments of being of your mom.  It's so much better than I ever dreamed, and I'm so lucky.  I love you, Jackie-bear, now and always.