As of tomorrow morning at 5:43 a.m., my baby will be a teenager. I’m not sure exactly all the emotions that a mother is supposed to feel at this moment, but whatever they are, I’ve been feeling all of them.
I feel so sad about losing the cuddlebug who used to twirl my hair in his fingers to be able to go off to sleep. Who sucked his little toes like they were covered in brown sugar. Who laughed at the tiniest things like they were the biggest joke he’d ever heard.
I feel happy for all the incredible childhood memories I have of him digging in the backyard for dinosaurs, dressing up as whatever ninja, knight, or superhero had his current fancy, climbing trees, playing with his dogs, and building legos like his life depended on it.
I feel proud of the young man he is becoming who cares about everyone around him, keeps his family in stitches, adores the outdoors, is passionate about science, and still occasionally finds it not totally uncool to cuddle with mom for a few minutes.
My baby is turning 13. And that is simply worth commemorating today.