Everyone says it in one way or another.
“Wow, he’s gotten so big!”
“Time flies, doesn’t it?”
“He was just a little baby, like, two days ago!”
“He’ll be in college before you know it!”
They are right and I find myself somewhere between asking them for a tissue and wanting to clock them right between the eyes for pointing out something so ridiculously obvious. I’m aware how quickly we are moving through time together, how quickly you are changing. I’ve been aware of it since the moment they handed you to me in the post-op room at the hospital.
You have changed a lot in the past year — taller, leaner. You’re as big as (and in many cases bigger than) the four and five year olds in your pre-school. Some predict you’ll end up 6ft or more, which will be hilarious if it’s true, seeing as your dad and I are about as average as they come.
It’s funny. I spent so many of your quieter months (oh, the quieter months!) wondering and waiting for you to be able express what you were thinking. I was dying to know what was going on behind those bright grey blue eyes.
It was worth the wait.
You are so incredibly expressive. You say things like “the stars are sprinkled in the wintry night sky!” Which I’m sure has come from one of the many books you have almost completely memorized. You are also so affirming. You always compliment us on our clothes (“Mom, I really wike your dress!”) or sometimes the food I make for dinner (“Mmmmm, this pasta smells amazing!”) I laugh because it’s hilarious, but also because I know it is evidence that we are affirming you and teaching you to appreciate all there is.
You have become such an unfiltered, emotional being. When you are happy, there is little that can rival your enthusiasm. You run around and around and around, whooping. When you are devastated, there is often nothing that can console you. I hold you tight and wipe your tears and try to help you understand why you are feeling the way you do. I think, sometimes, your emotions are still pretty confusing to you. When you get mad, however, you growl in frustration ( I think that’s my fault) and today, while begging for either of us to play with you, you exclaimed “I AM FRUSTRATED!”
And you are filled with so much love, Sam. You have recently taken to kissing. Sometimes, it’s like you are so overwhelmed with positive emotion that, when it begins to bubble up, the only way it gets released is kissing. Again, I think this could be my fault. But I won’t apologize for showing you love and affection, because you have so much to give this world. I will love watching you figure out how to give it away. You are my heart, living outside of my body. You are so much like me and yet, so much of yourself.
You don’t know this because you are three and I would never ever burden you with this, but I can say it here because this is my space. You are a rock that I am constantly steadying myself against. Being your mom is always my number one priority–no matter how shitty or lost I am feeling. I know exactly who I need to be when I’m with you and that is the weirdest most comforting thing. You are my biggest dream, happening before my eyes. I know you will one day understand what I mean.