You’re halfway there…
…
He just turned nine. It’s this weird place. Maybe it’s only weird because it’s our first time here? Maybe it’s weird because I know I no longer have one single human under my care who qualifies as an actual baby? Or maybe this halfway point truly is weird. I don’t know if he’s technically a tween. But he definitely fancies himself more than a “kid.” Maybe he’s a Twid? Could we make that a thing?
On his birthday, I shared a picture of him {with his permission of course}. Because now we are in that place where I feel like I truly should ask him before I post things about him on social media. The lack of talking about him isn’t because he doesn’t give me “material”… in fact, there is almost more to say. But now it’s his stuff, ya know? And I think about the fact that his friends know how to read or find information on-line. I think about how writing about bodily functions or inquisitive conversation is so funny when it’s about an infant or a 4-year-old. But with a halfwayer, it feels like we are entering a place where I owe him more privacy. Every mama finds herself there at some point, I think. And in this day and age of social media, we all navigate that differently.
The halfway kid. That’s what people said when I wished him a happy 9th. And I hadn’t even thought of it in those terms. But as seems to be the sort of usual route to adulthood — to the age of 18 — we are, indeed, halway there.
Oh my stars.
This point, it is uncharted territory for us. The child vascilates between being an absolutely joyful human to a mopey, growling ogre-esque creature. There does not seem to be an in-between. It is either giggles and chatter or eye rolls and ijustwantmyownspace. He can hold a totally adult conversation. And then, he can grunt and eye roll. He both loves his brothers and then, finds it completely obnoxious that they exist. The hormone train is on the tracks, it would seem.
Gone are the days of me dictating any part of his daily wardrobe choices. He favors long socks, gym shorts, and dri-fit shirts. He wants his hair “shaggy and long” and while I much prefer it to be kept neat and clean, we are in agreement that if he will comb it, he can keep it. The days of him wanting to lounge in the bath and play have given way to me wishing I had a car wash sort of system set up in the back yard that he could just walk through each night to get the sweat and boy smell at least hosed off. He asked me the other day what “this bump” on his face was and I almost fell over when I had to reply, “It’s a small pimple.” A PIMPLE. MY HUMAN MAKES PIMPLES NOW.
This boy is caught like Britney Spears, feeling like he’s not a boy and not yet a man. He still has childhood in him. But his features are starting to morph and get sort of odd looking. He’s no longer “cute” in the way that strangers would comment on him in public. That stage left around age 7. He is now in that in-between holey smile stage where he’s trying to figure out his own style and how to approach hygiene. And that seems to be an everyday adventure and battle of wills.
The need to be constantly active also means a need for constant eating. Snacks. Upon snacks. Upon snacks. We are just embarking into multiple helpings at dinner. And he would probably drink a gallon of milk per day if I allowed for it. He got his own room recently and is starting to spend time just reading and taking some time to himself. The sleeping in hasn’t yet begun. But he is independent in all his daily tasks. Because he’s 9. I don’t even have to worry about whether he’s getting ready or can make his own waffle or figure out if he has homework. He tells us when he needs to study. And manages his own expectations in the way of academic goals. Very aggressively, in fact.
This in-between stage… this halfway there… it’s a whole new world of parenting. It comes with more tone and emotion. From both sides of the court. It comes with more freedom for him. And a little bit more letting go from me, each day. His friends are no longer selected from playdates but from recess hanging and sports’ teams. Some of his friends like girls. But he “just isn’t there yet.” And his math homework… well… I don’t know how much longer I’ll be of any use in that department. He is no longer learning the stuff I get without re-reading the lesson. Lord help me.
This halfway there point, sometimes has us living on a prayer.
And then…
There’s so much that is so good about it.
The conversations are deeper. They are more thought-provoking. He makes me look at the world and our future differently. The moments that are good are so good. And the moments where he seems filled with angst have me savoring this little window of time before we wrinkle into teenagerdom. The snuggles are somehow more cherished by me now because I am often in wonder of how much longer he will want me to lay next to him at night in the dark of his room. The reading of books like Little Women and Wrinkle in Time and Wonder have offered these incredible dialogues that have impacted me to all my insides. This halfway boy is proving to be a really insanely fantastical human.
I am getting to watch as he’s unbecoming the little and becoming the big. And I’m not totally sure what I feel about it all yet.
In the coming years, people will talk less and less about being the village in parenting. We will become so mired down in figuring out our singular tweens and teens, taxiing them to and fro, and wondering if those wrinkles on our face just appeared over night, that we will feel more isolated in parenting. And our children will, before we can get out a full blink, be to the 3/4 point… and beyond.
We are halfway there. It’s not a bad place to be. But it’s different. New challenges. Different types of tired and frustration. Different feelings of pride and excitement.
He’s better than I ever could have imagined a human of 9 being. I like him better than I like most people. I enjoy his company. And his conversation. But the manhood that is creeping in is slowly claiming bits of our time and innocence, and I know that it’s only a matter of time until I will be saying that he’s going to prom or driving or… or…
He’s halfway to adulthood. And yet, still so much of a boy.
I asked him the other night, as he kissed me on the lips, if he would still let me snuggle beside him when he’s a teenager. He said, “Mom. I don’t think that’s probably cool. But that’s okay. I’ll probably still let you. I’m not trying to be cool.” And I am just going to hang onto that for now. Because while we are already halfway there, we are also only halfway there, too.
That. That is the very best part.
