Eight years old

// a thousand threads// a thousand threads
Our little dude is practically an adult today — at least that’s how I’ve always felt about eight.

Those pictures were taken only about a year and a half ago, but looking at him now it feels like light years. Light years since he’s carried an arm full of stuffed animals. Light years since that front tooth grew in. Light years since he was still tiny enough to pick up and love, instead of reaching almost all the way up to my shoulder, feeling more and more like a teenager every day. Light years and no time at all… and in just eight more he’ll be driving.

In a lot of ways, I miss the baby who toddled into my life at a year and a half. But I also adore the tiny person he’s become, who still sees the world in black and white like the pictures above, simple… at least for a little bit longer.

A week ago I asked him if he’d like to learn to play the guitar. “I can play the guitar,” he said, a little confused. He’s been “playing” one since he was two. “Well, the thing is there are chords and… you remember how we talked about learning to use the camera and you thought it was just point and shoot but then I showed you there was more to learn?” I explained to him what he didn’t realize, and then stopped to think how much I wish I still had the confidence to proclaim I didn’t need any extra instruction in something I loved.

That confidence, that ability to hear beautiful music when all you’re doing is strumming away, it fades when we start to grow up. Insecurity starts to creep in. One part of me wants to keep him tiny and protect him forever, protect him from all of those things in a bubble that keeps the perfect bit of wonder he still has alive and well… but another part of me can’t wait to meet the grown-up he’ll become.

I’m sure I’ll always miss his tiny feet, hanging out of a pack as we wandered through the woods, but I’m in awe of how smart he’s become, how strong, running ahead of us and leaving us in the dust. It’s the reason that we try to remind ourselves to stay present now. To remember this moment, this person who’s practically an adult, but still very much our little guy… and who won’t be the same for long.

The moments are fleeting, but the good news is that they’re replaced by days and months and years that only get better with age.

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