Seven years of love

I lie here cradling my little boy who just had a nightmare. While I am sure it was momentarily scary for him, I get to be the mommy that embraces and comforts him. Being there to ensure he feels safe, loved and warm is the greatest duty, role and feeling I can have.

Today my little boy turns seven years old. For how much longer can I call him my little boy? He reminds me that he is no longer a baby but does he not get to be my baby forever?

The age of seven is a major one, at least in my family. It was always seen as a major milestone, partly due to our Catholic upbringing. Seven, it is a grand number with so much historical and psychological significance.

While I am excited to have this milestone and to celebrate it here in Hawaii, my forever happy place, I can not help but feel he will soon start slipping away from me. I know that as a parent I have to learn to let go. I know that. But he is my one and only. No spare. I can’t imagine the day he goes off on his own. It is silly really to be in such early denial, especially considering at the age of 14, I had already left home to attend boarding school to never really return. I put my mom through an early separation and although pained she did it so that I could have a better life. Moms, we sacrifice for our babies, even our need for attachment.

So I lie here cradling him. I can only hope that even in 20 years, he will call me when he has a nightmare.

Happy birthday to my precious little one and may he know I will always love and keep him warm.