Sitting here with my sweet Optimus Prime, mi numero uno, my first born. We've watched cartoons, Harry Potter and now, Transformers. It used to be Bob the Builder, Thomas and Curious George. He's home today after a night of tummy issues that left him tired and weak. Snuggled on the couch and feeling better, I sit and watch him watching.
There are so many things I remember about him, and many memories have to tug out from a distant darkened corner somewhere in my brain. I have noticed something about him lately that I used to think was so far in the future. The pulling away. The apron strings being loosened. The slight dismay at this mother that still wants control, control, control. He is growing up.
It's been so gradual, I didn't notice.
His exclamations when I ask if I can re-brush his teeth. The jerk of the hand when I reach up to pick something off of his face. The hesitation to wear the clothing I choose. The walking at a distance when I pick him up from school.
While Benjamin still nestles his face into my arms, and says with thumb in mouth (yes, still) "I want you," and Gillian throws herself at us with wild abandon, Colin hesitates and almost doesn't know what to do. He is diverging and on a path that I can't follow.
But last night....
Last night at 3:00am after the umpteenth bout of sickness, he crawled into my lap (all 78 pounds), curled up like a baby and put his arms around my neck. He nestled, sighed.
I closed my eyes and held him.
So very tight.