Staring. I can’t help myself. The words sound like the “wah, wah, wah, wah” of the teacher on Peanuts cartoons. Everything feels a bit surreal and fuzzy.
Sitting across the table is a man. His eyes are still the vibrant blue of the sky on a sunny day. The pile of curly out of control hair on his head is representative of the phase he is in right now. Still an adolescent, but an adult in a few short days: my boy and yet a man.
I have to keep my mushy-gushy mommy emotions to myself. I’m no crier, but I do feel a haze of sadness creep over me. (It is more wrought by some disappointments at the moment and not by sentimentalities.)
His dad and I are at a special lunch having “the talk”- no, not that talk. That one happened years ago. This is harder but in a less awkward way. Our topic is a heart strings tugging one about what happens when he is an adult: how and what will change, how he lives within our home as a man and yet still our child. It is sticky business.
I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like this Sam I am. I do not like it one little bit. It makes me sad and want to throw a fit. I will miss his antics here and there. I will miss the adventure that took us anywhere. I miss those carefree boyhood days. Not a fan of (some of) your manhood ways.
How did I get here, to this place? A flood of memories rushes in like the time lapse films I’ve seen- overwhelming and beautiful all at once. Sensory overload. I am reminded of all the mistakes I’ve made- and it pains me to my very core. Then comes the sweet picture of the sleepy toddler cuddled against my chest. I can almost feel his baby soft skin as he contentedly sucks his thumb.
I am the mother of a man, but he wasn’t always one. Things will change from this day forward. Some changes I will welcome; others I will not. But one constant will remain: my deep abiding love for my firstborn son.