Mama Bear Moxie: Watching maturation in real time

My oldest son is 12 years old and has reached that point in his life where the past boyishness and future manliness collide in an awkward battle of teen angst. I always knew this day was coming. I knew that one day I would look up and see a man where my boy once stood. I thought that I would be prepared for it once it came.

I just didn’t expect it to continue to take my breath away.

It all started a few months ago when we went shoe shopping. I found myself holding back tears as I grabbed a men’s size 9 shoe box and handed it over to him. Where did my little boy go? How do I parent a person that is only a few inches shorter than me? How will I parent him when I have to look up to him? What will that be like?

From that point, it has gone pretty much all downhill. I catch a glimpse of my husband out of the corner of my eye only to realize that it is in fact my son. I stand in the kitchen making dinner and hear a man sized body coming down the stairs only to see that it is my son at the bottom of the stairway.

We went back to school shopping, and I cried a little bit inside as I realized that we are no longer in the boys section. His waist is measured by inches not by whole numbers. He eats one, two, and sometimes three servings at meals and then will ask, “Are you going to eat that?” as he wildly stares at his siblings’ half-eaten leftovers.

It is like watching a testosterone raged tornado engulf everything in its path only to grow bigger and stronger. If I need help lifting something, he is a legitimate option and can usually outperform me in manual tasks.

He is becoming a man right in front of my eyes.

I now have to look at every single tag of clothing when I fold laundry because his shirts really aren’t that much smaller than his dad’s. My sister gave us a stack of her old college shirts and I was shocked to see that they fit him perfectly. Actually, some are already a bit too tight.

Just the other day I was holding my husband’s hand on one side and my son’s hand on the other. I marveled at how similar they were. My son’s hand was ever so slightly smaller than my husband’s, and I felt a mixture of pride and loss. I am proud of the young man that he is turning into (although we could definitely still work on eye contact and curb the mumbling), but I am also mourning the loss of a little boy that I will never get back.

Gone are the days when he will jump up to sit in my lap to read a book.

Gone are the days when I can scoop him up to mend a scraped knee.

Gone are the days when he needs my help to do everything.

This new chapter of parenting isn’t all bad though. I must admit that having an older kid has some definite perks. I have particularly enjoyed being able to banter with him on current events and inside jokes. He is cresting the mountain to adulthood and, all in all, it is really pretty cool. The years of teaching him how to act, what to say and what to do have now turned into less teaching and more watching as he becomes more responsible.

My man cub is learning and proving that he knows his stuff. In less than six years, he will leave my den and enter this world. I pray that I prepare him well for that bittersweet day when it comes.

I just hope that it won’t surprise me as much when it does.