Sweet sixteen and more than likely been kissed

 

 Sweet sixteen and more than likely been kissed
15 February 2014

That sweet little boy, I gave birth to so many years ago, is sixteen today. 

When did it happen?  When did he get so big?

Was it while I was busy doing homework with the other two?  While I was talking to a client on the phone?  Did it happen when I quickly nipped down to the shops, to get some groceries for supper?  Was it while I was busy making a cup of coffee?  Maybe even dinner?  While I was doing a spot of admin?  Did it happen when I got distracted?

Cause I swear, I was trying to pay attention.  At least for most of the time. 

But much as I looked at him, I couldn’t physically see him grow.  And change.  And evolve.

Yet, the evidence is there.  Plain for all to see.

At times, the deep voice still startles me.  As well as the whole towering-over-me-thing too.  He’s becoming physically strong, and when something heavy around the home needs to be lifted or moved, my husband now asks Luke to help him, instead of me.  But there are other odd things too.  The scratchy beard stubble, when I get a kiss goodnight.  The slanky long-limbed-ness of teenage years.  The glimpses of maturity.  Of understanding of the world.  The fascinatingly hairy legs.  The big hands and big feet.

Because I promise you, just the other day, he was three.  And he would hug me and squeeze me so very, very tight.  Tell me he loved me and would live with me forever.  Tell me I’m gorgeous and the best food-cooker in the world.  Want to hold my hand.  Ask me to cuddle with him at night.  Big treats being a shared bath at night.  Lying in bed, reading stories together.

And now?  Well now, I pretty much get discontent.  The odd little snippet of mostly enforced affection.  The obligatory kiss goodbye in the mornings, maybe a hug, and a bedtime kiss and hug too.  But for how long, will I still even get this much?

I get appreciation for the really good meals.  The treating.  For spoiling.  For having friends over.

But nothing for me.  For just being his mom. 

Yet I’ve dedicated my whole existence, to being just that. 

I know it’s asking too much.  It’s not realistic.  But that mom of a three year old is still lurking inside of me.  And I so remember that open and loving little boy.  That little boy that liked me so much.

It makes my heart yearn.  And my throat burn.

Sweet sixteen, and most likely been kissed.  Probably quite a lot.  It would be very odd if he hadn’t.

For now, I’m playing the long game.  Enjoying the moment, yet keeping an eye on future.  Trying to see the bigger picture.

One day, we’ll both look back at this time, when we did this awkward dance.  This backwards-forwards-toe-trampling-stumbling shuffle.

And we’ll reminisce about how good these years were.  And perhaps, with a wee bit of luck, I’ll finally find out, who was his first kiss.

 

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