The stage that sneaks up on you

I've got a teenager. My firstborn, my only son is 13.

Just as quick as they all said he would, he grew up and out of that little boy stage I used to know.

You really don't think about this stagethe big-kid-not-quite-yet-a-man stagewhen he's that cranky little baby who won't sleep (and didn't sleep a solid night through until he was about 2).
You don't think about this stagethe quiet, keeps-to-himself-and-wants-his-privacy stagewhen he's flying around the house in his Buzz Lightyear costume all afternoon.
You don't think about this stagethe voice-awkwardly-changing-an-octave-deeper stagewhen you're busy listening to him sing the Caillou theme song every day before his nap.
You don't think about this stagethis texting-friends-and-discovering-cute-girls stagewhen he's holding your hand dragging you toward the slide at the park.
You don't think about this stagethis prefers-to-be-dropped-off-at-the-movies-alone stagewhen he's begging you to play trucks and cars on the floor with him.
You don't think about this stagethe eats-everything-in-the-fridge-all-day stagewhen he refuses to take his paci out at the table during mealtimes.
You don't think about this stagethe sweaty, after-soccer-practice-stinky-sock stagewhen you're watching him splash around in a bubble bath after his first day of preschool.
You'll not think of this stagethe won't-be-caught-dead-hugging-mom stage —when you're holding him tightly through his cries during shots at the pediatrician's office.
You won't think of this stage—the only-wants-the-most-expensive-iPhone-for-Christmas stage —when he's peeking behind doors and corners looking for his mischievous elf every day in December.
You don't think about this stagethe impossible-algebra/integer-homework stagewhen you're snuggled up next to him in a toddler bed reading Chicka Chicka Boom Boom at night.

You won't think about this stage until you get here, wondering where the last few stages went. 

Wondering where the soft baby hair on his head went. Where the wiggly teeth, toy dinosaurs and his stuffed piggie have all gone. It's going to sneak up on you. It's going to tear you up inside a bit. It's going to make you cry harder than you did on those sleepless nights 13 years ago. But you'll learn to appreciate this stage too. Because it's working. All the things you did at every previous stage. The parks, the giggles, the hugs, the lullabyes, the picture books and snugglesall the things that have made him HIM. Everything you did up to now is still alive here in him today at this beautiful, big-kid-not-quite-yet-a-man stage.

This post was published Jan. 31, 2020 here at Her View From Home.


  1. So I was directed to your page reading about Kobe. I felt the words you wrote were painfully honest. When us humans live long enough we start to experience loss. For me it was my father at the age of 50 yrs young. Pleaded with God to not take him but cancer got him as well. A mountain of a man both in presence and in action, reduced to 110 frail pounds. The reason I write is because your story. I've read all your posts....some more than once. They have caused me to stop and take stock of where I am in life and I can't stop thinking that it could easily be my wife of 17yrs. We have had ups and downs. Marriage is a full time job, best and hardest I've ever worked but I wouldn't change a thing. I have her reading about you as well. Anyways, thanks for displaying it all for the world to see....yes you are doing something very wonderful. Please keep it up. My heart goes out to your little ones. I stood in my boys doorway last night and just watched them fpr what felt like a hour. Just thank you. May God richly bless you.


    1. I'm so glad you found me! Thanks for reading, good luck to you and your family. xoxo


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