The gap between my boys

The gap between my boys
12 September 2013

At a glance, the gap between my boys isn’t really all that big.  I mean, it’s but a mere six years.  Almost negligible in adult time.  However from my mommy point of view, it’s a gaping chasm.  Near insurmountable to bridge and overcome.

Surely not!  Isn’t that a bit extreme?  Dramatic even?

Perhaps to some.  But not to me.  Because whether dramatic or extreme, it’s the truth.  And an undeniable fact.

Because this is what six years age difference between my two boys means:  Affection from one boy only.  Only one boy, that absolutely adores me above all others.  Only one boy that spontaneously hugs.  Only one boy that really values my opinion.  Only one boy that thinks I’m highly intelligent, can fix all problems and is the best chef in the whole world.  Only one boy that likes my fashion sense.  Or lack thereof.  Only one boy that still holds my hand.  Only one boy that still wants to spend time with me.

But this I realise – I’m on borrowed time.  The writing is on the wall.  I’ve maybe got a year left if I’m lucky.  And then there will no more running through in the mornings and jumping into my bed.  No more requests to join me in the shower, or have a bath together.  No more cuddling on the couch to watch a movie.  No more saying stuff like, “Mommy, you’re just so cute!”

Instead I’ll have a double dose of occasional heaving sighs.  I’ll be transformed from being a mother, to a mere lift club.  A means to an end.  I’ll be a source of money and the person standing between them and teenage and tween boy mischief.  I’ll be the annoying clinging mom, that insists on making conversation and talking about everyone’s day.  I’ll morph from being cool, to being an embarrassment.

Cole’s knows that he will change too.  Just like me, he’s lived through it with Luke and Amber.  And I think he’s intuitive enough to know that it hurts, when your kids start pulling away from you.  I guess my face is rather like a mirror.  And so every so often, he’ll whisper in my ear – I’ll still cuddle with you Mommy.  We’ll still do stuff together.  I’ll still like you and hold your hand.

However, because of his insight, he has seen my weakness too.  And he is nothing, if not an opportunist and a great teaser.  And so occasionally, when I go in for a kiss or a cuddle, he’ll look at me with pure mischief in his eyes and say, “I can’t kiss you Mommy – I’m THE AGE…”.  In fact the phrase, “I’m THE AGE”, has become a bit of a joke.  And he pulls it out mercilessly and plays it often.  Yet, the end result is always the same.  After feeling that he’s tortured me enough and I’ve hammed it up a lot claiming I’ll die, if he too turns, he quickly comes running over and squeezes me tight.

How I wish I could make it last.

And so in order to attempt to stave it off, I’ll look for the warning signs.  Not that I could really stop them, once they begin.  The seconds those armpits start their none too gentle ponging, after playing and sport, I’ll know it’s over.  The tide will have turned.  Those sweaty pits are a clear indicator of hormones abounding.

But for now, he smells as sweet as a daisy.  Actually like a little boy should.  Part dog, from playing with our pets, part hot from playing in the sun, part earthy from playing outside, and usually fruity too – cause he just loves to eat fruit.

Yip, long may it last.  And so for now, I’m savouring it all.  Storing it up, for the lean years ahead.  Every hug is engraved into my memory.  Every spontaneous little act of love cherished.

Kids growing up is hard.  Most especially for their moms.

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Pics of my gorgeous boys - a few years ago.  Now aged fifteen and nine.