sixteen going on seventeen

October 24, 2011

Over the weekend somewhere between the pumpkin carving and the park chasing a lightening bolt struck. (Always with the foundation-shaking revelations. Oh, parenting!) As I stood under the fading leaves of a crispy red tree and looked at the pictures I had snapped of my baaaaaaby a heavy veil lifted from my eyes.

There it was, clear as day: my kid is a BOY, practically a teenager. Maybe it's the new shoes or the growing hair. Or the full beard and black coffee in the morning. Who can say? All I know is hot bananas the kid look like a... kid. WHAM POW.
guess we know what's going in the basement.
so. we've got ourselves a drummer.

This is my kid, playing the drums in a garage band.
He's like 14 or something now. Hold me.

Of course this kind of thing doesn't happen overnight, not really. I'm not that deep into my denial. There was much foreshadowing of current events that my eyes seemed to stiffly refuse to acknowledge until this weekend. Selective vision, if you will. It's not that I mind the growing up part, because I think it's divine, but it's still well, you know, my baaaaaby. It's an entirely irrational leak of the heart.

It's never been clearer than I am a kid person and not a baby person. This kid stuff? It rocks. I've never been happier, full stop, close the curtains and pack up the stage. ...Not that I wouldn't do the baby thing again, don't get me wrong. But now I know it would just be a means to an end, ie a vehicle for more kid.

I like parenting these days, it's tough but good. It's a working-hard playing-hard kind of feeling. There are days that are terribly horrible and days where the effort finally shines through. I like the person he is now. I hope this is him. I think it is.


Normally all it takes for me to mentally file him back into little kid is to see him alongside other kids, older kids. Pictures of him by himself are a bit of optical illusion because he is actually quite short for his age. (Seriously. Short.)

Lately though even the size difference can't save me from re-filing him into the big kid folder as he will walk right up to anyone and ask to play. He has all the confidence one body can handle and the words (and balls) to match. It's increasingly difficult to remind myself that he just turned two not three. Or twelve.

Jon, time to sound proof the basement.
The drum kit and the garage band are coming.
I'm ready. I think.

garage band
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