Sometimes, he’s still my little boy
He gives me the bum's rush when he's playing with his friends, but he keeps looking to see if I'm watching when he's on the playing field.
He's tall enough to ride most carnival rides - and he isn't shy about expressing his dismay if he runs into one he's banned from - but he wants someone to be with him.
He'll stand facing the waves at the beach, all 4 feet of him challenging the Pacific to bring it on. But then he'll refuse to go to the bathroom without an escort.
That's the state of Big Guy, who's sprouted up in the past year and now hits me mid-chest. He's a real, live boy, all muscle and a sculpted face without a hint of baby. At times, though, he lets me know that he still wants to be my little boy, at least for a little longer.
It's a stage that's as hard for him as hard as it is for me. He craves independence - I'm convinced that with him it's more of a need than a want - but occasionally he clings, even when he doesn't want to.
He'll shrug off a hug or growl out a pouted "nothing" if I ask him that something's wrong. Minutes later, though, he'll be back for the rejected embrace or to pour out his troubles.
Problem is, I never know which Big Guy it's going to be. I'll hug when he wants to shrug, or I'll gab when he wants solitude.
It might be more than a phase with him. I've confused people my entire life with my need to go it alone much of the time. Just when they adjust to that part - presto change-o! - I'll suddenly switch gears. I had no idea how hard those changes are for others to handle until I found myself on the receiving end.
I'm not quite sure how to handle it with Big Guy. I'm positive that I'll keep making more than a few missteps, but I think we'll be OK as long as he says "I love you, Momma" just before he falls asleep at night.
Copyright 2010 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.