My baby just turned 10. At 12:46am he became a kid with a double digit age.
He has friends staying the night, so I was nice. I called him in the other room to do my fun little "at exactly this time 10 years ago..." story.
He is not supposed to be in the pre-teen double digits.
He is supposed to still be playing with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and taking a nap in the middle of the day.
He is supposed to still be a cute little thing that wants to do nothing more than take care of Mommy.
He is not supposed to be playing baseball (and impressing the stink outta me as catcher) and getting ready to head into the 4th grade.
He is not supposed to be doing fearless dives off the high dive at the pool. Running the board, stomping the jump, soaring away....tuck in the head, arms and legs straight, cutting the surface with hardly a splash. I am amazed by his fearlessness and natural ability.
He's not supposed to be giving his dad as good as he gets in a paintball war.
He is not supposed to take off on his own and go to his friends house without me holding his hand to go across the road.
He is not supposed to be only 8 inches shorter than I am.
I keep trying to deny that time is passing, but it is just not playing along. It just keeps marching.
Flip the calendar page and on it goes.
My kiddo isn't a little kid anymore. My Little Man is almost as tall as I am, and we only have a few short years left where I am the only woman that he wants to hug him.
If you will excuse me now, I am going to go cry for a little while.