Everyone told me how fast it would go. I believed them, too, but it didn't prepare my for what I am about to say:
My baby boy is about to turn a year old.
So I'm sitting here with my head spinning and stars in front of my eyes, wondering where on earth the time went. And it makes me realize that he is going to grow up so much faster than I can imagine. You know, I already worry about the time arriving when he will need to test his independence. When he needs to go off and do his own thing and become his own person, I wonder how I will react. I will either resist and smother him and make him resent me because he is my baby, dammit, or I'll be all loving and gracious and like, "Okay, dear, I'm here if you need me." I'd like to think that I have enough time to figure it out, but obviously I don't. By the time we wake up tomorrow he might be in high school.
So, last year we were downtown at some summer celebration or another, walking around with the kid in the Baby Bjorn, people watching and enjoying the weather (and oh my, doesn't that just sound heavenly right now?), and I saw a boy of about middle school age tell his parents that he was going to go hang out with his friends. He was one of those kids I don't know how to describe now even though I myself was on the fringe of it back in the day - baggy pants, chain wallet, black shirt and a cap, you know the type. They exchanged words like, "I'll be at so-n-so's house" and "Be home by blahblahblah" and then the mom told him to give her a kiss, and he did - smooched her right on the lips - and turned around and went on his way. And you know what? It was glorious! There! THERE! THERE is a teenage boy who will still kiss his mom! THERE IS HOPE!!!!
