We are closing in on my firstborn’s 7th birthday. All of the boys’ birthdays are an opportunity to step back and reflect with fascination and pride on the tremendous growth a child accomplishes in 12 months. But there’s something about the first. You watch your firstborn develop and change and you have never been here before. You have precedents from every stage before — set by that firstborn — but every tomorrow is brand new for both of you.
I have been a mom for many years now, but I have never been a mom to a 7 year old.
Similar to last year, a few anecdotes that describe what J is like in this, his last month of being 6 years old.
1. Great intentions. I asked J to hang up his towel after his bath this evening. I walked through my bathroom shortly thereafter and saw this (below). While the execution is sometimes lacking, this is a boy who is happy to help, eager to please, and exceptionally rational (particularly when it comes to cause-and-effect of, say, chore-and-privilege). He is still — as he’s always been — easy; easy-tempered, easy-going, and easy-to-reason-with.
2. “Easy” should not be confused with “low-energy.” I can’t embed a video file, but see below for a series of screenshots our Nest doorbell camera captured from a ~1.2 second moment in time. This is J just, you know, exiting the house. As he bursts out of the door somehow already 18 inches off the ground, the accompanying audio is of him channeling a martial-arts-style yell. He then casually trots across the lawn in the direction of the neighbors’ house. The nuttiest part is that his mind somehow has even more boundless energy, constantly whirring such that you can almost hear him processing new information contextually against things he’s learned before. He does not accept perfunctory explanations, will challenge inconsistencies in your logic, and then go on to beat you handily in a footrace.
3. On the cusp of something new. He is still so sweet, asking me to sign “I love you” as his bus pulls away — insisting I continue until they drive completely out of sight. He plays peek-a-boo with C, holds A’s hand on walks, and laughs so genuinely at O’s antics such that it feels less like a connection borne of brotherly convenience and more a true friendship. He doesn’t care if he leaves the house with comically obvious bedhead. He cries with the most heartfelt histrionics when he falls off his bike and skins his knee. He likes to imagine he’s the Flash, or Sonic the Hedgehog, or a dragon.
But he has 2 of his permanent teeth now. He was subtly trying to brag to a little girl at the playground recently that he could skip bars on the monkey bars “without even trying.” He starts statements with “yo” (as in, “yo, that ice cream is so good”) since he started watching videos on YouTube Kids of other people playing Minecraft. His legs look so long to me as he pauses getting dressed in the morning to show me how cool his new “boxers” are. He is literate!
He is growing up. I’m not sure when the switch will flip (per above: firstborn), but it can’t be long before the little boy innocence fades compared to the traits that I’ll come to associate with his identity as a bona fide young man.
Frankly, maybe we’re already there. If that’s the case, and if this is the early preview of the adult he will grow into… I feel pretty good about that.
*****
^I began drafting this post this afternoon. During the evening, the boys were in charge of cleaning their room, and J took O’s bath towel downstairs to “hang it up to dry.” Clearly I need to be more specific about what constitutes a satisfactory place to hang a towel…
C is 10.5 months old now, and I am still nursing. To be clear, I have been under-producing compared to his consumption since I returned to work, so by now we are supplementing 50% of his daily feeds with formula. But in case you haven’t already heard, there is a massive formula shortage nationwide, with 1 in 5 states tracking at 90% out-of-stock. So all these moms survived the gauntlet of having a “pandemic baby” with various waves of danger during pregnancy and Baby’s infancy, only to now face the anxiety of, you know, questioning whether Baby can physically be fed after supply chain and regulatory failings. If you’ve never heard the phrase “tough as a mother…” well, now you know.
Suffice it to say, though I considered officially weaning off nursing almost 6 weeks ago, I determined I would not further contribute to the shortage when I can still produce milk.
This very small act of solidarity with my fellow moms got me thinking about the many small but meaningful ways moms look out for each other. Here are some memorable instances in my own experience. Add to the list if you have other examples!
- A porch-dropped meal (or — real talk — baggie of assorted adult beverages and sheet face masks) when you tell your girl friends that you’re solo parenting while your spouse travels, or have a nasty illness making its way through your kids’ immune systems, or are just having a week.
- All of the priceless Mother’s Day gifts that were indeed made by your own child, but clearly crafted under the supervision and prompting of another woman in your life; someone who took her time and resources to help facilitate a magical moment for you.
- The women who smile kindly and seemingly without judgment as your sons go barreling past them at dangerous speeds, channeling their inner hedgehogs after recently viewing the Sonic movie (may or may not have happened in the last 24 hours).
- The many times that — even while “off duty” — moms are on alert for any kid’s safety. I was on a run this week and saw a woman across the street mowing the grass. A ball from a neighborhood soccer game rolled out of bounds into the street, its player close behind, as a delivery truck approached. Though the driver was alert and stopped well in advance, I saw the way she — like I — tensed up, turned her torso in the direction of the street, and visibly braced to jump into line of sight for the driver if he hadn’t started braking immediately.
- Among the most undervalued acts of solidarity: the women who walk out of the public restrooms with their hands still damp after washing, having chosen not to use the air dryer that clearly terrifies small children and otherwise results in my sons shouting in panic, cupping their hands over their ears as though someone just triggered an exceptionally localized sonic boom.
lemonade stands are
classic, but hustlers sell snacks
to an empty beach.
