I am sorting laundry, and I grab a gray sweatshirt, ready to throw it onto my pile of clothes. I do a double take, and realize it's not my sweatshirt, it's his. He gets dog poop on his shoes in the back yard. We have to be somewhere and don't have time to clean them, so he borrows a pair of mine that are masculine looking. They fit. He's outgrown his pants, so I go shopping for new ones. He was in a 12, and now is in a 16. Where did 14 go? I see movement out of the corner of my eye and wonder who that guy is walking through the other room. I startle when I realize it's him. Just a few months ago, he stood in front of me, and we played our private little game where I rest my chin on his head. I tried again the other day, and couldn't do it. He is now too tall. I find myself thinking. . .how? WHEN?!?!?
The kids have always grown up too fast for my liking. With him, the sand slipping through my fingers has now turned to water. He'll be twelve in a few months. My breath catches in my throat when I realize this is our last year before he is a teenager. The merry go round is spinning faster and faster, the days and the world becoming a blur. Will I have time to teach him everything I mean to? To say all that needs to be said? I'm terrified that I will not.