Passing Time

If you've been around here a long time, you already know some of this story, but bear with me.

From the time I was a teenager, my endocrinologists told me and my mother than pregnancy would be a difficult thing for me. That conceiving a child naturally would be difficult and maybe even unlikely. That I should be ready to face fertility challenges. So, I was.

Then, just over 10 years ago, just over two months into my marriage, I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant. It's funny, isn't it, how the challenges you actually face in life are so often NOT the ones you expect to face?

In October, 2007, my first born made his SCREAMING entrance into the world. How, exactly, my husband and I (both of whom tend toward extra weight and have dark brown hair) had produced a skinny, long limbed, BLONDE child was a mystery to us, but we were obviously immediately in love.

When I started this blog, he was only several weeks old. He was chunking up rapidly (he went from 6.9 lbs at birth to 12 lbs at six weeks), and was an avid snuggler. 

The nine plus years since his birth have been a rollercoaster ride that's been heavily documented here. 

Now, he is a third grader who is up to my chin and wears the same size shoes I wear. He is an athletic, energetic, sensitive and empathetic kid who still drives me nuts and then melts my heart in the span of seconds. 

It's been on my mind a lot lately how he's growing up. He is still an avid snuggler. One of his favorite things is to snuggle on mornings (like today, a snow day) when he doesn't have anywhere to rush to. And because he's 9, I think I am relishing his snuggles more than ever, if that's possible. Because, in my heart of hearts, I know we're getting toward the end of this part of our mother son relationship. 

At some point, snuggling with your son becomes 1) something he's no longer interested in and 2) something that isn't really societally appropriate or accepted. And that's fine. It is what it is. I'm not railing against societal norms at the moment. But it does make these snuggles bittersweet, knowing that at some point, sooner than later, they're going to taper off. 

I remember when B was 9 months old and in a Baby Bjorn on the LI Ferry. (I think I may have recounted this here before so again, forgive me), and a gentleman said to me, "Don't blink." He told me about his grown children and how it seemed like yesterday that they were babies. One of those things that conceptually, you get, but you don't maybe REALLY get until your child is suddenly an enormous human and you think, "When did that happen?"