Never Too Old

I look at him sitting there, quietly doing his homework, focusing on solving the problems set before him. His ever-changing body in the awkward state of growth, a bit of fuzz over his lip, his arms disproportionate to the rest of his body, the sound of his voice caught between that of man and boy.

I look at him and remember the moment I first laid eyes on him, his little face wrinkled from the glare of out-of-the-womb light. His cry powerful, yet weak all at once, the tears and emotions that overcame me as I suddenly became a mother for the first time.

My little boy, my “baby bear” now 12 years old, talking about girls to his friends when he doesn’t think I can hear, talking to me about the many things he is going to be when he gets older, and so eager to get older, so that he can venture out into the world free of me and my maternal rules.

This same boy who as a child couldn’t fall asleep if it wasn’t to the sound of his mother’s humming voice and soft pat on the back. This same boy who would play with my hair, as he sucked on his bo-bo (nuk) while we watched his favorite cartoon.

There he is, demanding that I recognize him as a growing young man, challenging and questioning my theories of why things must be done my way, pushing away from me with every passing day as he tries to figure out who he is, where he’s going, who he will become.

Almost immediately after his birth, the sudden joy of seeing him, became an overwhelming fear of loosing him….images fast forwarding in my mind of a day when I would have to let him go. And I held on tight…and still want to, but that day is fast approaching.

As a mother, the greatest feeling in the world is seeing your child walk through life with his head held up high, confident and sure in his purpose. But also great is knowing that I have tried giving him a sense of home, a place to come to when life gets a little challenging, and he needs a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear.

I struggle to see the growing boy that sits here before me, my vision of him clouded by the memories of the baby once held to my bosom and guarded from the world. I miss my baby, but I’m in awe of who is he becoming, and wish I could have both.

Almost as if sensing my internal sadness and sense of loss, he stands from his chair and stretches his leg.

“Hey Mom”, he says catching me staring. “What’s up?”

“No, no. Nothing.” I reply, pretending to rub sleep from my teary eyes.

Silence. Another stretch. A few steps towards me, he kneels before me as I sit on the couch and places his head on my chest.

I breathe him in, wishing that with one long inhale I can take him all in. I close my eyes to record this moment eternally in my memory.

“I love you Mom.”

“I love you too.” I respond as I bury my face in his dirty hair, realizing that he’s still there. My little baby bear.

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