I wonder if all those years of karate will actually pay off

When you're a parent (heck, even before you actually become a parent), you live in a constant state of wonder:

I wonder how the hell I'm going to get this baby out of me.

I wonder when he will sleep for longer than an hour.

I wonder when he'll stop being so fussy.

I wonder if my mother will always criticize my parenting.

Etc.

Etc.

(The joys of parenting!)

Most of the time, you wonder about the firsts: first tooth, first step, first solid food. They're exciting, yes, but there are a whole slew of firsts that never make the baby book.

For me, I couldn't help but marvel at this bodily first with Junior. Also, the first time I had food poisoning and had to tend to two children. And the first time my kid said a bad word, even though it wasn't intentional. So many exciting firsts.

Just last night, when I was home alone with the three boys and Chuck was still at work, this first happened:

We were all upstairs when we heard a strange noise from the kitchen. Junior—who always has been my code-red child, the one who screams "RUN" and then totally books off, the one who shouts "Call 9-1-1!" even though it's not really a crisis—turned to me calmly and said, "Stay here, Mom." As he went downstairs, he put his arms into his karate stance. He came back a few seconds later and said, "All clear. It was the cat."

It all happened so fast, and yet so slowly. I stood there for a moment and stared at him. At nine, he's a solid guy. I can wear his shoes. I mistake his shirts for Chuck's in the laundry. He's as tall as my shoulders and yet, he's been my Junior, my first, for so many years I didn't recognize the "stay here, Mom" voice or the calm young man who confidently stepped down the stairs.

He saw me watching him and asked what was up. I didn't tell him what I was thinking. I ruffled his hair and told him to brush his teeth. That's the thing about children: They're so much more than that first tooth. They keep changing and surprising you and some days, you find yourself wondering who the heck this new little person is.

See? I told you it was all about the wondering.

Ma'am, put down the stuffed hippo

Junior grew two feet in his sleep. Every pair of pants I put on him this morning were short. His legs look like they belong on a giraffe and his new haircut, which is way more buzzed than I'd like, makes me feel as if I should salute him.

I know babies. Drooling. Not sleeping. Teething. Bottles.

I do not know this little man-child. Everything is cars and wrestling and cool and "Fast! Faster!".

After pretending to jump over volcanoes on our way to brush his teeth he grabbed my arm and shouted, "Great job, lava protector girl!"

Suddenly I am a girl. Suddenly he and Chuck are "the mens" and they're too cool for girls and babies.

When did this happen and what do I do about it? All the old standbys are now defunct with this one. Everything I've learned—burping, rocking, singing, cooing—no longer apply.

It's a whole new ballgame and I am the rookie. The one at the plate holding a bib and pureed food when really, what the batter wants is a Beyblade.

What the fuck is a Beyblade?

Junior, of course, is taking his metamorphosis much better than I. I've been stumbling through stores, wondering how I ended up buying boys' pants that look like they could fit a teenager. Socks that look like they could belong to Chuck. And I can't stop thinking about this little hippo.



He used to be sewn to his mom, and Junior was perfectly content to keep the pair that way until one of his friends came over and ripped the thread, separating them.

When Junior told me what happened I said, "Oh no!"

Junior answered, "No, it's a good thing."

"It is?" I asked.

"Now he can go places on his own."

Damn you, Junior. Damn you for growing and being secure enough to seek your own identity and adventures. Damn you for not needing me as much and for morphing into a content giraffe-hippo man-boy.

It's everything I wanted for you and yet, some days the realization that this is just the beginning of letting you go breaks my heart.

Please stop growing up so fast? Please?