He’s growing up folks. I’m finding the many moments of absolute pride are tinged with bits of melancholy. I know this is normal, it’s part of the process of raising an adult. I don’t want to freeze him at any particular age and yet saying good bye to the parts that were to make way for the parts to come, pinches the heart. I catch glimpses of the man he is becomming. I see the greatness inside him. I don’t want to forget the sweet moments that are molding him into who he is to be.
I had picked up some Dr. Suess books for him. Wednesday night he saw them on his dresser. “MOM!!! You brought me books and they have my word THE in them!!” That night for bedtime stories we read them together. Little Man read a good 80% of Put Me In The Zoo. I’m not sure which of us was more excited as he picked haltingly over the words. We’ve entered a new era.
On Saturday his Dad and I took Little Man for his first eye doctor appointment. Little Man and I had discussed what he could expect during the visit and what questions he wanted to ask. I told him about the chair that moves up and down, the big machine that looks like an owl, why it’s important to answer the Dr’s questions honestly. We went over the types of questions the Dr. would ask, “Does number 1 look better or does number 2?” and “What are the smallest letters you can see?” I described how the Dr. would get really close to Little Man’s face and shine a little flashlight in his eyes.
During the prep work, I realized I forgot to describe the glycoma test… the air puff test. The technician had told Little Man, “This machine will just put a puff of air in your eye to test for a disease called glycoma. I need you to look at the little house inside the machine and look straight ahead.”
“It’s not a house it’s a farm” pipes up Little Man
“Great, tell me if you see any cows or sheep or horses. Hold really still and look straight ahead.”
“I don’t see anything, just the red farm.”
“Put your chin down, hold still and look straight ahead. Do you see any grass or trees?” Side note, if you don’t want someone to move, don’t ask them questions that require an answer… just saying.
This process went on for about five minutes. The technician’s patience is being tested. “You’ve GOT to look straight ahead.”
Little Man squeeks, “Um, excuse me sir? I can’t hold still. I’m a little really scared.” He looks up at me and his lip is quivering.
I squat down to his level. “Darling, all this test is going to do is blow in your eye… like an air kiss. Here, let me show you.” And I blew a short breath in his face. He giggled. “And now the other side.” Poof “Just like that, ok?” More giggles.
“Ok…” He put his face back in position. It only took a few more moments and the test was complete.
“Mom, that wasn’t anything like an arrow in my eye!” …!!!!! An arrow? He thought the machine was going to put an arrow in his eye?!?! No wonder he was scared… good grief.
In the Dr’s room, seeing Little Man in the big chair, hearing him read the letters, telling the Dr. which view was better, whether the top or bottom was clearer, letting the Dr. know that the bright light hurt his eyes, helping him pick out the frames for his new glasss, it hit me again… That little boy is his own individual. He has his own personality, his own feelings. As much as he was a part of me, he is his own.
Gone are the days where I am his whole world. He has experiences daily that don’t involve me. In fact that would now be the majority of his day, especially since his Dad and I have 50/50 co-parenting. There is no way to protect him from everything. There is no way I can possibly know everything that happens. I don’t get to be there.
It’s as it SHOULD be. And yet there’s a small part of me that misses it… some days more than others.