Did I ever think about this day, eighteen years ago…. most certainly not. I saw his tiny toes that were the much more elegant version of my own–his pools of ebony blinking up at me as he took in his new world, his rosebud lips that pursed as he suckled in his sleep. He was a happy baby, an easy baby, a baby that made me want more.
Eighteen years later, I am the mother of a six year old son, a nine year old daughter, a sixteen year old son and an adult– a legal adult. He can vote, get a job, leave home, get married, be tried in adult court, make me a grandmother, and and and, I could go on, but I may have heart failure if I do.
I can no longer carry him on my back, nor send him to his room. His time-outs are of his own choosing. He will always be my boy, my son, my baby, but he is also so very much his own man. There I said it. Man. How can I be the mother of a man? How did this happen?
Okay a moment of serious joking. It was funny, but perhaps you had to be there….
In and under the hayloft…. a place I remembered from my early childhood, a place that seemed like a dream, and now returns to that state.
The biggest brother, my eldest son!
This wasn’t intended as a full photo retrospective, and given his age, most of my photos of his early years are in print in physical photo albums. It is easy and hard to see your child become an adult. It is a process that is impossible to slow or halt–it is a journey not a race I try to tell them. But like so many things, I am not sure how much they hear… Ah, love them all.