You are still innocent.
I feel we are on the cusp of your childhood turning a little sour, of you maturing at a faster speed than I’d like. I have to pause and appreciate the age you are now and the innocence of your still-young, still-fresh life and point of view. Because I still think of you as my baby (well, babies, since there are two of you), I’m pulling tight on those reins to keep from moving at a break-neck speed.
You still believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. You still want us to take you out trick-or-treating. You still believe all people are good and trustworthy (it will break my heart when you learn that not everyone is). You still play made-up games for hours. You still believe that when we tell you you have to do something, you have to do it. You don’t lie (much). You still get excited when you find a penny on the ground and when we go to a pool or a playground.
You still reach for my hand when we cross the street. You still want to sit on my lap and love being picked up (most of the time). I’m amazed that I can still do that, by the way. You still like all of your stuffed animals and playing tic-tac-toe. You continue to enjoy watching cartoons, although I’m still sad that you’ve long outgrown The Octonauts and Peppa Pig. It was pretty cute when you’d use British slang, like asking for “sun cream” or an “ice lolly” and want to splash in mud puddles.
You aren’t cynical or jaded.
The world hasn’t shown you its ugly side yet. You don’t know that people can be haunted by psychological demons and that there are villains who are very, very real. You don’t know about the devastating effects of mental illness, psychopaths, sociopaths, and people who just plain want to watch the world burn away. Your knowledge of any inkling of evil is limited to movies, books, and video games. But you have yet to learn that sometimes, the real world is scarier than fiction.
You still say “brang” instead of “brought” and “powerfuller” instead of “more powerful,” despite my many, many protestations. You still can’t correctly pronounce “lapis lazuli,” nor do you want to. You still like storytime, even though you can read chapter books on your own. You still give me wet, sloppy, unabashed kisses. You still change clothes in your bedroom with the door wide open, playing while doing so.
You still cry when you’re hurt.
And you still feel better after a chocolate chip (or two, or three) and a goofy remark from your brother. You still look most adorable when you’re sleeping. You still don’t know how to tell time with Roman numerals or tie shoes with laces (okay, our bad). You still forget to close doors quietly before 8:00 am on the weekend.
You still refuse to eat pie, which I will never understand. You still don’t realize that mashed potatoes are THE WORLD’S BEST FOOD. You still let me stroke your silky cheeks, and I hope you never brush my hand away. Forgive me if I still reach out to do it when you’re 20, 30, 40 and as long as I have strength in my body.
You’re old enough to pour a bowl of cereal and play outside (mostly) unsupervised, but you’re still young enough to need me and want to spend time with me. I don’t know what I’ll do when we get to the day that you don’t anymore. You’re old enough to do basic chores and clean up after yourself. You still volunteer to help with cooking and cleaning. I know that has an expiration date.
You might appreciate potty humor, but you’re not potty-mouthed.
You’re still careful not to use swear words that you hear in movies and on TV, but I know you know them. After all, I use them generously at home, but I do try to keep it to a minimum when you’re around. I was only six when your grandma caught me saying the S word, and I know I was punished big-time for that slip-up. Maybe you’re just smarter than I am.
Let’s pause here indefinitely, please. There is plenty I enjoyed and reminisce about when you were younger, and I know there will be lots to look forward to in the years ahead. You will become more and more independent and capable, and I will welcome that heartily. But for now, let’s celebrate the age you are and this stage of your childhood. It is fleeting, like all life, and I don’t want it to pass by anytime soon.
Also, I’m not super-excited about you hitting puberty. I’ve heard stories.
