Eight years ago I spent a sleepless night, my last night without a child in my arms. What the morning held, I didn’t know. What motherhood would hold for me, I couldn’t even begin to guess.

You would be the one who taught me so much about motherhood and myself.

And now– eight years old, closer to adolescence than to infancy, and yet I look at you and you are still my baby somehow. Right now, you are such a mixture of little boy and big boy, and I love who you are.

You are anxious to use your talents– writing, playing the piano, acting, singing. I look at you and see a mirror of my personality staring at me out of your daddy’s face. You know so much about the things you love, and you delight in teaching your brother about them, so that he often spouts forth with random information.

You still hide your eyes during the scary parts of The Polar Express. And you are still so innocent. I know I can’t take that for granted anymore. You grasp tightly at tradition, especially this time of year, and you are still my planner who desperately needs to know what’s going to happen next and how it’s going to work.

You want so much to be funny. You try so hard. I guess Dad and I have instilled in you that desire. We are fans of the funny. But it is more important to us that you be you, funny or not.

(And you are funny. Just not usually on purpose.)

You still call me Mommy and I love that so much. And you’re willing still to crawl up in my lap for a snuggle– more willing, I think, than you were as a little boy.

You love the Lord and you want to seek Him and obey Him. He is the best part of you; that will always be true. I know He will be able to use you greatly someday; even now He uses you.

You come up much too high on me, when I stand up beside you and measure you by my arm. How can you even be that same baby that snuggled so tight on my chest, that curled so close within my body?

I sing the song of all the mothers throughout all the ages, who cheer on their sons’ growth while still trying to cling to their smallness.

Thank you for letting me cling, at least a little. And thank you for giving me so very much to cheer.

I love you most fierce.


10 thoughts on “You.

  1. Pingback: Tweets that mention You. « Together for Good --

  2. Erin, that is so true. Those precious sons can still be your darling babies. They just may not know it. And Ryan is getting so mature and handsome. Don’t tell him, but I think he’s going to be a the stuff of young girls’ dreams.

  3. happy birthday to your boy. lovely words.

    i measure my kids not with the frame of a door, but with me. noah resides (yes, lives there) just under my chin. he is 12.5 and still calls me mommy.

    enjoy every moment of 8! “they” aren’t lieing, “it goes by fast.”

  4. Pingback: Does Virtual Coffee Come in Decaf? « Together for Good

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