On October 27th, 2017...my baby boy turned eight years old.
I do not feel old enough to have an eight year old. When he was tiny, I would think about how strange it would feel to have a seven/eight/nine year old and how ancient I would be then. *IN MY THIRTIES- WHAT?* Surely, I would have it all figured out by then. "By then" has come...and it does feel very strange but I do not feel ancient. I feel the opposite of ancient and I have nothing figured out. I feel like I am still stumbling around on Bambi legs, blinking at the light with new eyes. Because I have an eight year old now and... I have no idea what I am doing. I used to feel like I would always see the layers of every Liam that ever was superimposed on who he is becoming. It worked that way for awhile- when Liam was four, two-year-old Liam was still there, hidden under a mop of blonde curls, but still so very present. In the end, that isn't how it has turned out at all though. In the end, I lost them. I still remember baby Liam and toddler Liam and preschool Liam very clearly...but I don't see them when I look at the Liam in front of me any longer. He has outgrown them, shed them like old skins...which I suppose is what they were. I remember them as I would remember someone I used to know long ago who I have no hope of ever seeing again. They are not here with me, preserved in my heart or lingering in his eyes, the way I thought they always would be. They are gone. I can remember them...but it is an active sort of remembering- it takes effort. Sometimes, the light will play off this Liam's face and I will think he reminds me of someone. The someone is a former version of the boy here with me now. If I think about it too much, I start to feel a little panicked and melancholy...as if my child is lost and not simply growing like a weed in front of my very eyes. His legs are still so long and he has not yet grown into them so he still reminds me of a foal. He still loves his toys and his cartoons and sweets. He still wraps his arms around my neck and tells me how much he loves me. He still cries when he gets hurt. He is still so little in so many ways and every single way is so precious to me because I can see the end of little coming straight for us. The end of little is barreling toward us like a freight train and now I know the truth- when little is gone, it won't hang around like a friendly ghost....it will just be gone and I will only get the memories. So, for now... I will hang on tight to little...and I will practice letting go. I love you, Liam Eliot. More than you will ever know. Happy birthday.
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WHO AM I?
I am Michelle: a wannabe hippie in love with a bonafide geek. We also spawned. I spend my days with our four wild, beautiful boy children and I overshare about our life online because I am a Millennial and that is what we do.
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