Sunday, November 13, 2011
Time for a Change
He surpassed my shoe size a couple of months ago, and fairly often, I find myself back to back with him as he tries to figure out if he's gotten taller than me yet. It's apparently a tantalizing goal that's been just out of reach, now by only a fraction of an inch.
As Mom, I've always looked out for him. I wiped his nose, kissed his boo-boos, picked him up when fell down, and held his hand as we crossed the streets of our life together.
We went for a long walk today, just the two of us. We walked down the big hill in our neighborhood to a busy street and crossed it to walk in the neighborhood I finished out my teen years in so long ago. We walked and talked just like my dad and I used to do when I was a disgruntled teen. He'd see me agonizing over something (as teenaged girls are wont to do) and tell me to put on my sneakers. Then we'd walk up and down the hills of our neighborhood until the story came out and fatherly advice dispensed. This usually happened at night and somehow the darkness made it so much easier to spill my heart out.
The sun was out and it was lovely cool today as the Boy and I walked. We didn't really talk about anything heavy but just enjoyed the weather and each other's company. Every once in a while, we'd hold hands for a few seconds - to cross a road or just to share being there together. After we'd done that a few times, I noticed something odd.
When we held hands, my hand was in his. Up until this day, his hand had always been in mine - the one that enfolds his and protects it - and him by extension - the one in front with its back to the world as the inside of it cradled my baby's small hand. Today, without plan, my hand was in his.
This day came much sooner than I expected.