My oldest boy, now 8, is having growing pains this week. Last night we were at a birthday dinner and I ended up holding Jack like a baby because he kept crying saying his leg muscles hurt. I wiped his tears and traced his eyebrows and smoothed his forehead and ran my fingertip over his upturned freckled nose.
I swear I saw his newborn face staring back.
So I held him there, rocking, and we talked.
Just he and I.
We talked about when he was a baby.
And when he grows up.
And right now.
He asked a billion questions…
“Mom, how was the earth made?”
“How did the sand appear?”
“How do our brains work?”
“Why do our cells die?”
“How do our cells multiply?”
“Is my skin, cells?”
“Why is skin soft enough to get hurt?”
“How do light bulbs work?”
“Where does electricity come from?”
Those are just ones I can remember.
Not too many more moments like this left in his childhood. I noticed yesterday he’s almost as tall as my mother.
Next time I blink he will be as tall as me.