As They Grow

Last night, two vignettes, two children, though I suppose for their privacy's sake I shouldn't tell the stories of them.  They are nothing to be embarrassed about, but things of pure beauty, at least to me, the mother.

The oldest, in the middle of my storytelling, stopped me and asked me when puberty would start, because he wanted to know and prepare himself.  He's about two years off from it, but then again, it's an incremental thing and for all I know the wheels of maturity are slowing turning.  He was so open and vulnerable about his concerns and we talked, really seriously, for about ten minutes, me listening to him and telling him he can always, always, ask us questions, when he changed subjects back to childish matters such as cartoons or bugs or some such.

I remember being just that age and having the very same nerves about the impending change. I could see it coming-breasts (which really never came), hair, deodorant, and of course, the period, the story of which I will not regale you with here.

He's just on that cusp when he knows childhood will end. He knows that the change is coming and with it everything around him will change. It is a dizzy and terrifying feeling and he crushed his long gangly body into mine, perhaps to stave the change off for as long as possible.

The youngest came back into our bedroom, after trying unsuccessfully to get to sleep.  He said, "I just can't deal with this feeling I have. I don't like going to camp because I don't want to be away from you guys all day. What am I supposed to do with all these feelings????"  I asked what he might like to help him, and we agreed I'd draw a picture of all of us together so he could keep it in his backpack and look at it whenever he needed to.

My heart got a few more little cracks in it last night.  Hearts break as they grow, I guess. Theirs, too.