My Firstborn: He’s Growing Up, and I Love It

8 years old.  It’s a sweet spot.

I love my 4 and 2 year old.

SOMETIMES, I like them.

Honestly though, not ALL that often.

(But SOMETIMES I do, ok?)

It’s true, there’s nothing cuter than the fat-bellied, short-legged physique of my 2-year old.  He’s learning new words every day…heck, new sentences.  Paragraphs.  It’s fascintating watching him learn and grow and change and try so hard to keep up with his older brothers.  He’s precious.

I love him, and sometimes I like him.

And my 4-year old? He’s spunky as all get-out.  His smile can, and does, melt my heart.  He certainly has his own personality, preferences, and opinions now, and it’s fun and interesting trying to figure it all out.

I love him, and sometimes I like him.

But the truth of the matter is, I’m not the kind of girl that really enjoys LITTLE kids.  I never have been.  This little kid stuff that other people seem to find so cute/hilariouis/endearing? Meh.  It’s fine, but seriously, I could do without it. I TOLERATE it, I don’t love it.

But my 8 year old?

Oh gosh.  I’m in love.

He’s on the cusp.

He’s right in the middle.

He’s wedged in.

He’s on the threshhold.


Childishness and (Young) Manhood

Babyhood and The Whole Rest of His Life

Complete Innocence and Real World is About to Hit

He sleeps surrounded by stuffed animals still, and my heart melts…

He shoots hoops in the driveway shirtless, and says, “what’s up girl”, when he sees me watching…and my hearts melts.

The other day, feeling sentimental,  I said,  “Hey dude, remember how much you used to love super heroes?”, and he replied “Super Heroes suck, mom”.  He’s getting so old.

He still requests that I cuddle him, pray with him, give him kisses, give him hugs, give him one MORE hug, one MORE kiss,  AND tuck him in securely before bed (he’s SO still my LITTLE boy)


He said a girl was “hot” the other day.  He also rolls his eyes at me way more frequently than I’d like, and somehow the word “freaking” has creeped into his vocabulary (teen years, coming at me like a freight train)

We have amazing conversations.  We talk about everything from basketball stats ( I know nothing about them, and he is perpetually annoyed) to how his dad and I met, and how do I suppose HE will meet HIS wife, and why did God make marriage anyway?

He wants to know about boobs as much as he wants to know about Captain Underpants.

He still call his dad “Dada” (this one is kind of weird, I admit, but we will take glimpses of our little boy in any way we can).

He’s only 8, but I already see him starting to understand and embrace some of the concepts of manliness..chivarly,  bravery, respect, and gentlemanliness.

He’s becoming modest enough that if he’s in his boxers, he runs into his room and puts clothes on when the babysitter arrives…

He’s still little boy enough that he is NOT above mooning his mama with his bare booty or pulling his pants down and shaking his wang back and forth proudly.

He’s just young enough that I can still protect him from MOST of the world’s ugliness…but not young enough that I can protect him from all of it.

We were on vacation last week, and the two of us spent an entire hour, side by side,  on the back patio, each reading our own book. At one point I quit reading, and just looked over at him, tan, shirtless, muscles starting to form, devouring his chapter book, and thought, “please stay exactly this way.  You are completely perfect right now”.

8 years old is perfect, and I wish I could bottle it up and keep it forever.


You may also like

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: