Trust me people, I am well aware of the fact that Owen is no longer a baby. I'm made more aware of this fact every single day. When he makes his own bowl of cereal, when he gets himself up and packs his own lunch, when he's outside playing with the neighborhood kids.
I see it every single time he tells me he doesn't need me to do something for him, or to help him do something.
I'm reminded every single birthday that he is no longer a baby. He's entering the double digits this year. I am fully prepared to say goodbye to his little boyness. Well, maybe not fully prepared, but I've braced myself and I've come to terms (somewhat).
But all of these things don't mean that he's not my baby. Not only is he the youngest in the house, he is the last baby I'll ever have. Everything he does, every milestone he crosses, is the last first I will see. Of course there are a ton of firsts still left to see. But the big ones that mean so much, those are gone.
Next year he will be in the big kid school, I won't have to take him to school every morning for too much longer. Before long he will be asking to walk or ride his bike. Before long he will be like Gaige, hardly ever home and when he is, he's on the phone with a friend or worse...a girlfriend.
I get so tired of people telling me that Owen isn't a baby anymore. That I have to let him grow up. But I know all of this. And he is growing up fast enough for me. I'm going to miss the days when he wants to cuddle when he's sick and begs me to take him for ice cream every day after school. Those days are coming to an end quicker than I'd like to realize.
But I'm going to hold on to his little boyness for as long as I can. And that's OK. The world would have mothers believe you have to push them to grow up as fast as possible...but you don't. You can and should savor the moments that you won't get back.
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