double digits

My first born is ten. For those of you who are not good at math, that means I have been with him for a decade. I have loved every single day with him, except for that one day where he took all the kids for a walk in the gully. Being ten is an interesting place to be. I remember being 10. I remember my thought process, and my feelings, and my deep disdain for my siblings, my yearn to sometimes be an only child(if you had my three older torturers, er I mean brothers, you would understand).

I feel like I get age 10.

10 is too old for playplaces,
but still young enough to enjoy the novelty of a balloon.

10 is old enough to stay up late,
but not old enough to watch what your parents watch (lost).

10 is too old to have girls for friends
but too young to have a girlfriend. (thank you, thank you, thank you...)

10 is too old for a babysitter,
but too young to babysit.

10 is old enough to understand some of life's harsh realities
but young enough to believe you will escape them all.

10 is too old for hugs and kisses,
but young enough to want to be tucked in.

10 is old enough to sometimes think you know it all,
but young enough to most times know your parents do.

I love 10. I am sad the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 raced by with a speed that has me wondering if I will remember it all. I know I won't. I know 10 will soon turn into 20 and that I need to count every day with my 10 year old boy as a blessing.

And I do.



I really do.