Long, lanky legs.

Pointy shoulder blades.

Teeth that look too big for your mouth.

Stretching like a beanstalk every few weeks.

My boys’  frame is changing.

It is developing faster and faster, and sometimes it feels like a race to keep up. To keep up with the need for forever bigger clothes; for fast changing interests; and for him learning how to inhabit this body of increasing maturity. Some days he’s like a toddler living in an eight year old’s body; other days he seems fully connected mentally and physically. We swing from irrational, over-sensitive bouts of tears and anger; to surprising times of responsibility and maturity:

“How can I help Mummy?”


“You’re the worst Mummy in the world – you’re not in charge of me!”

He can’t yet tie his shoelaces or find his school bag, but he can ride a mountain bike like a pro.

His head is ever encroaching upwards, nearing my shoulder. Soon I won’t be able to rest my chin on the top of his head anymore. It won’t be long before he is able to look me square in the eyes; before he will be able to lift me up in a bear hug – his long arms wrapped around me.

I feel both apprehension and excitement about that – the pride of a fierce mother over her wonderful, growing boy; and the nervousness of contemplating what dealing with an angry child must be like when it’s towering over you, rather than located way below you. But I push this negative picture away and instead dwell on wondering what the kindness of your boy must be like when it’s given to you gently from a great height.

I look out of the window pondering all this and feel the imprint of this window on our relationship. I sense the fast passing of time with him… it races on and on… there is a window that I have with him now. We have a few years before he hits teenage years where he will still be fully mine.

The boy-child.

Still Mummy’s boy; still with me as his strongest influence and confidant. The window of time seems short from ages 8-13. I pray deeply that I have done enough to ground him for when he is increasingly released into a land of greater independence. I will always be the place he comes back to, even though the line between us stretches incrementally each day like a piece of elastic. But the elastic is on the move at the moment.

I determine to treasure this window of time. To ride both the fights and the cuddles, knowing that the more that I pour love into him, the more I am actually preparing him to eventually leave. That feels hard –

to give and give more and more love

just so that one day he can leave.

But for now I don’t want to clutter our window of time; to be distracted by other things; to shut the curtains on it.

May the light keep pouring in.

May I treasure this boy-child as he works out who he is and who he will be;

and I work out that I’m ok with that.

2 thoughts on “Window//06Jan2020

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