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When You Grow Up to Be a Man
“When I grow up, I’m going to be a man!” you exclaim, your face lighting up with a grin that could melt the iciest heart. I tickle your tummy, which is just peeking out from under your favorite, well-worn Superman shirt. “Yes,” I respond, forcing a smile, “one day, you’ll be a man.”
While I maintain a cheerful facade, inside I’m grappling with emotions I can’t convey to you, a mixture of joy and sorrow swirling together.
When you become a man, those tiny fingers that grasp my hand will eventually let go. I’ll miss the feel of your soft palm in mine as we stroll down the street, searching for squirrels that are definitely hiding from our clever attempts at capture. Your hand will belong to someone else, reaching for the strong, rugged hands of adulthood. Those quiet moments of trust we share will fade from your memory but will forever linger in my heart.
As a man, you won’t seek my permission anymore. The sweet, hopeful “Can I, Mommy?” that used to bubble up from your curious spirit will be replaced by confident decisions as you carve out your own journey. I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines, always your biggest supporter.
In manhood, you won’t need me to tuck you in at night, longing for my face to be the last sight before you drift off to sleep. You won’t plead for one more round of our favorite lullaby, “Wheels on the Bus,” or ask for a final hug before the lights go out. You’ll have your own place, and if luck smiles upon you, someone special to share those moments with. Yet, I’ll always yearn for that last whisper of “Goodnight, Mama” before I turn off the lights.
When you grow up, the days of dragging your blanket to the couch for a snuggle will be behind you. You won’t jump in puddles or mispronounce “yellow” as “yeh-yoh”. You’ll no longer run into my arms when I enter the room or scribble love notes (those joyful red squiggles you called “I love you”). You won’t climb atop the kitchen counter to boast about being taller than me, all the while wrapping your arms around my neck as I half-heartedly scold you for being on the furniture (because, let’s be real, I secretly love swinging you around while you squeal with delight).
No, when you’re a man, you’ll be responsible, mature—everything society expects from adults. Though I can’t help but wish you’d still leap in puddles every now and then and, just for me, mispronounce “yellow” one last time.
As a man, you’ll be strong, hilarious, and kind-hearted. I hope you’ll still write love letters, but this time filled with real words, pouring out your heart to someone you cherish. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even sing “Wheels on the Bus” again, but this time beside your own little one, who will beg for just a few more moments with Dad before bedtime.
You’ll always be my son, my joy, my laughter, my shining light. But you won’t be entirely mine anymore.
So, as I watch you beam with excitement for your future, I do my best to mirror your enthusiasm. “Yes, when you grow up, you will be a man,” I say, but in my heart, I know today you’re still my sweet baby boy. And I’m holding on tight.
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Summary
This heartfelt piece reflects on the bittersweet journey of watching a child grow into adulthood. It captures the joy and sadness of a mother as she contemplates the inevitable changes that come with growing up, cherishing current moments while acknowledging the future.