At the other end of the couch, I hear “Mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Mom???” because he didn’t hear my “yeah” (people hear me less and less the older I get.)
“Yeah, what?”
“Can vegetarians eat animal crackers?” he said with a smirk. Obviously thinking he was hilarious repeating a joke he just read.
I chuckled, but mostly gaped at how long his legs were on the couch. How his features are changing. How much like me he is.
He still lets me snuggle him in the morning after I’ve been up for hours and decide I need at nap at 8. He’ll let me sleep. And hold my hand while he sleeps too.
But then we’ll get up and I teach him how to use a knife the grown up way. How to push with the palm of your hand to make quicker movements and smaller pieces. So he can cook me apple pancakes. And he did. And they were delicious.
He cooks for me.
How did that happen?
My moments are fleeting with him.
I read a line this week about being a parent of a growing child… and it really resonated with me. Hit a cord:
“It’s like your getting laid off slowly from an equally grueling but joyful job.”
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