This boy. Skinny as a rake, fast as a hare, with superhuman balance. He has a thirst for knowledge and answers; he has perseverance and tenacity. This boy who clings and cuddles yet strikes out with sure independence and autonomy. He is six today.
When he was born it was ten years since I had last had a child and he was like a new first to me. He still has many qualities of first born children: he is a planner, a rule-follower, an achiever, particular. He can be highly-strung. I am also a first-born. I feel a sense of affinity with him, an empathy.
He loves his friends and his family fiercely. He has an enduring love of yellow, since he was at least two. When my parents come to visit, he always asks them to bring apple & mango juice, smoked salmon and dates. He is a creature of habit and he needs a sense of security. He prefers the known to the new.
He is serious and considered, yet has a wild and silly streak in his comfort zone. I love to watch it come out. He dances like a hillbilly. He loves to jump.
He loves Star Wars and superheros right now. He likes to read and to study fact books. He loves numbers and sports. If you play along with feigned ignorance, he does a mean magic trick. He eats nearly everything, and in it goes to his Tardis tummy. When playing with his brother, he likes to be in charge, but with big boys he hangs on every word. This is a boy who is going to be a scientist rather than an artist, a conformist rather than a rebel.
He is not my baby any more. He is still a mummy's boy but on his own terms. And though it can be bittersweet I love to see him stride out into the future, gaining confidence and sovereignty over himself. He is crossing the bridge from little boy to big boy, never too far from me, but not needing to hold my hand anymore. Yet in bed, when he cuddles goodnight, he won't let go. I'm thinking I should stop trying to get away to my chores or my own time, and let him hold on a bit longer.