So, my son turned 13 today. Now, mind you, I have raised teenagers before, so I am not entirely foreign to this particular creature. However, this is the first time it's been a boy... and my first-born child.
The actual teenager-ness began a while ago. The sulking, the hormone-driven smell (and subsequent AXE attacks). The first hints of facial hair, the phone ringing constantly from "friends" who just happen to be girls...
BUT it really hit home last night when I stayed up until 3 A.M. watching the video of his birth and homecoming. His first bath at home. Myself, struggling to nurse him, because we were both new to the idea. His tiny cry. The loving way his daddy and sisters and grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles held him, each for the first time.
Then I walked into his room, and looked at my man-child, asleep in his bed. His now giant hands and feet, so different from the tiny ones in the video and my memory-- and his sweet sleeping face, so much the same, made me well up with tears.
I don't think I ever wanted anything so badly as I wanted that little boy.
And on this day, his thirteenth birthday, I am looking back, yes, to that sweet little boy who has held my heart in his tiny fist lo, these thirteen years. But I also see hints of the beautiful man he is to be, and my heart aches with pride and joy that God, in His infinite mercy has let ME be the one to hold tight to that hand.
I thank God for my sweet TEENAGE son!!! I love you John! I always have and I always will!!
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