Fourteen plus years ago, my first son entered into our lives.
I had just delivered his head and he began screaming. Half in and half out he let us know he was here.
We grew up together. I was a very young mother and literally was winging it. He was my navigator and our entertainer. Somehow along the way D and I parented this baby into an amazing boy. We were a family of three for five and a half years.
We had so much fun with him. Watching him learn to crawl at 5 months old (!), learning to walk at 10 months (!!), asking us to please be quiet because he was concenfrating at 3 years old.
I took him to Cuba with my cousin. We missed D, but what an experience!
His First day of school, he went straight through the doors and never even looked back.
He begged us to play soccer. He begged us for two years. Five years ago we finally said OK. We signed him up for recreational soccer, but who is my son to just be an everyday player. Turns out he’s pretty damn amazing and was called up to All-star and eventually Rep. We were happy to see him flourish in something he so deeply loved. He continues to surprise even us as he develops his skills.
He got squeaky,crabby and slightly rebelious. He also became more mature, started shaving (!!!) and grew into a bright, handsome (no longer “cute”) funny and considerate young man.
And now, he’s going into high school.
Our baby. A graduate.