Years ago, Geri told me two things about parenting.
1) When Emma was two she told me, "You are in so much trouble when she is twelve."
2) When Braeden was eleven (and sort of a pain), she told me, "If you can let your son live between the ages of 11 and 15, you can do anything."
Guess who's 15?
(And it's true, the closer he has been getting to this age, the more I've enjoyed him.)
|This is Braeden on his second birthday. Yes, that's me in the becoming plaid flannel shirt. That's Jessica down in the corner. She turned 16 a few days ago which boggles my mind.|
...it is hard to ignore signs that my babies are growing up. (Denying it by looking at old scrapbook pages isn't helping.)
Braeden's growing up. Babies don't keep. Neither do toddlers. They have undeniable expiration dates and they morph into something bigger that eats more.
My mom told me that the last several times she's talked to Braeden on the phone she's asked him, "Are you sick? Do you have a cold?" (My mom's protective lioness nature goes on alert when she's confronted with sickness in those she loves.) Braeden kept telling her he wasn't sick and she finally realized his voice is just deeper.
I hadn't really noticed it but I have noticed that when Adam is home, I can't always tell who's talking, Adam or Braeden. Weird.
Over Christmas break, Braeden shaved for the first time.
I loved watching Adam move his mouth around in shaving conducive shapes with Braeden. I think strange things are cute.
Sometimes Braeden pats me on the shoulder in an everything's-going-to-be-OK sort of way. He rolls his eyes sometimes at my (hilarious) jokes.
He is growing up.
And I love him more than I could ever, ever describe. If the only thing I ever did in this life was be mother to Braeden, I think I should be satisfied that I had accomplished something important.