Somehow, someway, my baby turned 10 last week.
TEN. Two whole hands.
I don’t know how that happened.
It feels like yesterday that we were bringing home this tiny little red headed baby boy, and now I’m looking at a kid who is somehow double digits. A big kid with his own opinions, his own sense of humor (although it matches his dad’s almost identically), his own interests, his own friends, and a personality that is becoming more and more unique to him every single day.
And while I am not ready to admit that I’m the mom of a 10-year-old, I am so incredibly proud of the big kid he’s growing into.
My big is happiest when he’s moving. Soccer, fishing, hunting, dirt bikes, running around, riding his bike, just being outside…sitting still has never really been one of his strongest skills, unless he’s in a tree stand waiting on a ‘monster buck’. 😂 He loves being with his friends, he loves competition, and he has developed a little bit of stubborn determination that makes me want to pull my hair out sometimes, but also makes me incredibly proud when I see him refuse to give up.
He’s growing up. And I’m not exactly sure how I feel about it. My husband has been warning me about this since he was born…”You know, blink and tomorrow he’ll be ten.” And don’t you know it, that boy is ten.
There is something about 10 that feels different. Nine still sounds like a little kid. Ten sounds like a big kid. Ten, you can take your hunting test.
Ten is this weird beginning where you sometimes catch glimpses of the young man he’s growing into while still seeing the little boy in front of you.
I want to freeze time just a little bit. I need to.
I want more of the little kid who would climb into my lap. I didn’t prepare myself for the last time that he would do it, and I don’t remember when it actually was.
More silly laughs with his little squeaky boy laugh.
More dino walks, where his imagination ran wild, and we ran from dinosaurs in our yard.
One of the socials has a reel that asks what’s the best part of having kids and what the worst part of having kids. The answer is the same. The worst part is absolutely watching him grow up right in front of me and not being able to hit pause or remember to savor the times when I think it will be a last time for something. But then, the best part is 100% watching him grow up.
I want to watch him grow.
I want to see what kind of person he becomes. Because the glimpses I’m getting are amazing.
I want to watch him figure out what he’s good at, what he loves, what makes him laugh, what challenges him, and what kind of man he’s going to be someday.
This year, we celebrated our big guy with a surprise trip to Camp Nejeda so he could be surrounded by other kids just like him and then again with his birthday party surrounded by the people who love him most. There was plenty of food, plenty of noise and laughing, plenty of love, and plenty of chaos mixed in.
That’s what I hope he remembers about growing up here.
I hope he remembers the fun. The noise. The adventure. The love that surrounds him at all times.
So here’s to ten years of my big.
Ten years of watching this kid grow.
Ten years of learning how to be his mom.
I think, I know, that the next ten are going to go even faster.
So, happy 10th birthday, my sweet boy. My bug..
Double digits. Two whole hands.
Your dad and I love you more than you’ll ever know, buddy.
Please slow down; your worry mom isn’t ready for the next chapter yet.
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