My Little (Big) Guy

I read this {little article} tonight, and I almost couldn't breath. With tears in my eyes, I had to resist the urge to crawl into my oldest son's bed to cuddle. I stopped myself when I remembered his smelly blankie and other little sleeping boy in the room who would probably wake up if I tried to sneak in. But I still panicked. He's getting so big. Here he is on his 4th birthday earlier this month.

At four years old, he carries a bow and arrow (AKA a clothes hanger and a colored pencil) around the house like Robin Hood, brings a little plastic TOY kitchen knife with him when we run errands (you know, in case he needs to fight some bad guys), he likes pirates, Transformers and dinosaurs. He hardly ever wants to snuggle with his mama.

But he used to. I love it that he still calls me mama. A couple of days ago, I asked him, "Becky, do you usually call me Mama or Mommy?" And he replied (in a deep voice and serious face), "I call you Mother." what????

He used to not want to be put down. He used to screeeeeeam when I'd leave him in the YMCA playroom. Now he hardly notices I'm gone. I remember when I wouldn't let Reese play with the small Legos because she had a baby brother who would put them in his mouth. Now, he spends hours building airplanes and cars and who-knows-what with those same little Legos.

My desire is to raise a confident young man. A person who can think independently, make smart decisions, cares about others, loves God, and treats people with respect. Raising a son feels very different than raising a daughter. Reese and I have our own girl thing. It's hard to explain, but I don't think he'll ever quite understand how much his mama loves him. Even when he's 30 and married and I still call him Becky.

(If you didn't read {that article}, really, you should!)