I slept well on Saturday night, dressed warmly in thermals and a fleece. The baby didn’t wake up, and neither did I. I fluttered in and out of consciousness around 8am as the kids started waking and making noise. They were laughing, entertaining each other and entertaining the baby who was still in her crib. I thought to myself how nice it was to not have to be out of bed the very second my children were awake, and shut my eyes again, my head buried in my pillow.
After a few minutes Hub got up and was dressing at the end of the bed. I could hear the girls starting to bicker, so I stretched and opened my eyes. As I started to sit up, I caught something yellow from the corner of my eye and before I knew it, there was my son, his Halloween mask on, screaming “BOO!!” right in to my face. I screamed and sat up straight in terror, not quite certain what was going on; not sure whether to laugh or cry. He’s lucky that I didn’t push him over. He was pleased to have gotten me. I…well, I was recovering.
This is six.
Six is a weird age. He’s like a full fledged kid, unlike Lucy who is 4 and still clings to a bit of the baby-ness. He’s a kid, who gets on the bus in the morning, and goes to Tae Kwon Do in the afternoon. He has homework at least 3 nights a week. He can read more than just 3 and 4 letter words, he can get himself a snack, and he can call me every morning when I’m on my way to work, just to say ‘have a good day’.
He’s a bundle of gangly arms and legs, extra long toes, always dirty fingernails and a mix of permanent and baby teeth. Some days, he tells me that he loves me more than anyone ‘in this whole house’, and other days he tells me that he doesn’t like me much at all.
He’s my only boy and the most loving of all my kids. When sitting with me, he subconsciously twirls my hair in his fingers, just like he did as a nursing baby.
Six is a constant reminder that he is growing up. I can accept it; but I don’t always like it.
When I got out of the shower this morning and walked through the living room, I thought that the blanket on the couch looked a bit more rumpled than I’d left it. Sure enough, out popped his boo-screaming head.
Six got me again.