Growing Up

My boys are growing up, and on one hand, I am relieved by their independence in such endeavors as making their own lunch, getting themselves dressed in the morning, taking themselves out to the bus stop.  It's nice that they are now strong enough to help me lift a box or move furniture.  I appreciate that when we play a board game, there's actual challenge there.  When we go skiing or ride a bike - they can keep up, more than keep up - we can fun on that level as equals.  I like all that.  I see how they're getting smarter and stronger along with getting taller, and that's good.  There's a part of me, though, that misses the little ones they used to be.  The little boys who used to get so excited when I came home from work and rush to give me a kiss and a hug.    The boys who wanted to sit on my lap and snuggle to read a book, or hold my hand to cross the street.  I can't remember the last time a boy wanted to hold my hand in public.  When was it?  I didn't know it would be the last time, it didn't even register.  I assumed there'd be more, but there hasn't been more.  That makes me sad.  Santa and the Tooth fairy and the Easter Bunny have moved on from their lives.  The magic of "little" childhood has been replaced by friends and video games and groans and rolling eyes, and shrugs when their mother tries to put her hand on their shoulder.   They're funny now on purpose, instead of saying cute things out of innocence.  They don't remember a time when they would beg for goodnight kisses or to be "tucked in".  They never ask for a night-time "Quinn and Colby" story.  They go to bed on their own, although I'm still making it a point to go into their room and say goodnight.  I'm not ready to give that up yet, even if they are.  

 It's as it should be, I suppose   It's my job to grow them into manhood, and I wouldn't want to stifle that for the world.  But... I can't deny.... I miss the way we used to be, just a bit.  I miss being the person they ran to when they're hurt, I miss them wanting me to kiss their pains away.  I miss being needed by them, even though I know they still need me.  THEY don't know they still need me - they know it all, at nine years old.  So I'll shed my own little Mommy tears without them knowing.  They'd think it was all silly, anyways.  And maybe I'll sneak in at night when they're asleep, and I'll still give them a kiss goodnight, when they can't pull away and flinch.  Because I'll always be their mommy, and they'll always be my little boys, no matter how old or big they get.