Watching Them Grow

I came to pick up my youngest son from the kindergarten with his big brother who’s visiting briefly.

My eldest grew a mustache. It still feels surreal when I look at this young man, so much taller than me that I have to stand on the tips of my toes to give him a hug and kiss his forehead.

And here we are standing at the entrance of the kindergarten, and the little one comes out with a drawing he made for me and shows it to his brother proudly, and I look at them, my heart so full it’s about to burst.

I think of the time, so many years ago, when my eldest was in kindergarten and he’d draw me with my long dangling earrings — just like his little brother does. And now he’s sitting there with his mustache and long hair and earphones and strong opinions and this scary unknown future ahead of him that gives him anxiety. But he’s still that baby to me. He always will be.

I want to shout, “Stop, time! Slow down! What are you doing? I’m not ready!”

But I can’t. They need to grow. They need to change. They need to grow mustaches and beliefs and strong opinions and so much more.

I’m growing with them. Growing older, yes. But still growing. And as much as I want to stop the time, I also don’t. Because it’s such a blessing to watch them grow.