I just realized my baby is growing up. Not that I just realised that he is growing up in general, I mean, c’mon, but I just realised one of those tiny details that you usually don’t think about.
My baby, my boy, my little prince is growing up.
He loves to cuddle; we lie together in my bed, him with his tablet and me with my laptop, watching some shit or other. Sometimes he just puts his head on my shoulder or holds my hand for a little while. He tells me what he is watching, explaining stuff I am way too old to give a flying fuck about, but it’s the him telling me part that’s important. He can get so excited about the weirdest things; I love that unfiltered and somehow unbroken enthusiasm.
They are so precious—those moments of quiet togetherness, or, well, not so quiet sometimes. But he gets older. And that’s a good thing. He’s growing older, growing more and more into the man he will be someday. And he is going to be a good man and an amazing human being. But that man won’t be lying in bed with his mom, holding hands for a few minutes, or just putting his head on her shoulder.
One day will be the last time that we’ll do that, and we both won’t even know it. And it’s breaking my heart just a little, a lot, just to think about it. I know it’s part of growing up, and I’ll do whatever I can to help him become the man he wants to be, but…
I hope he’s going to stay my baby a little while longer, so I can gather more of these moments in my memory for the time after it was the last.
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