Tomorrow, Briton turns nine. Which seams very old indeed. I remember when I was first pregnant with him, I used to imagine introducing him to people, in my head he was four or five in that scenario, which seemed huge, and now it seems pretty small. Because nine is almost ten and ten, well, ten is double digits. Ten is tween. Ten is almost teen!
I've noticed a change in him over the past few months, a subtle shift. Where once, Evie was almost always the innocent party when it came to their scuffs, now, it's almost always Briton who was just doing his thing when the sister swooped in and broke/trampled/jumped on/changed/whined about the game. He opens doors for people and listens maybe just a fraction of a bit better than he did even three months ago. Because he is getting older.
Last November I started two journals, one for each of my kids. The idea is that, every now and then, I would write a letter to them, about them, about life with them right at that moment. I'm not a scrapbooker, I've tried, but it's just not my thing, and while I have billions of photographs of my children, I needed a place, other than this blog of course, to record the funny little triumphs and frustrations of their lives. I haven't written in it for a while, but I'm working on a letter for each of them today. It's interesting to see how much things have already changed, just in what I wrote then and what I will write now. And a few months down the road, I'll write another, and things will have changed yet again.
Lately I've been feeling like life is speeding up. When my kids wee babies life seemed to move so slow. Inching through the day. Feed, change, nap, feed, change, nap. Now the days mostly fly by. I often look up in surprise to find that it is already dinnertime, that my kids have been playing by themselves in their room for three or four hours without a peep. Once upon a time I would have suspected that they were either a) asleep on the floor or b) up to something. Now I know they are just doing their thing. For the most part I love this, because it means I can spend a little time doing my thing. But at the same time it hurts a little to know that they no longer need me, that he no longer needs me, every second of every day.
Tomorrow Briton will be nine, and we are going to the Jersey Shore to meet up with some Charlottesville friends who are there visiting. He has requested that we have rootbeer floats and play on the beach all day, which sounds pretty perfect to me as well. Tomorrow he will get a little bit bigger, and the next day he'll be bigger still. I'm am ridiculously proud of the boy, the young man that he is becoming. Although, you know, it would be nice if he would stay little for just a wee bit longer. I guess that's every mama's plea though, isn't it?