It seems that Hijo and I have equally expensive tastes in Christmas presents. He wants a Wii and I want a Nikon D80. I told him not even Santa could arrange a Wii. He grumbled, "Even Santa has to listen to what the parents think about stuff? No fair!" He was already rather miffed because I'd assured him Santa couldn't bring a puppy either. At least he still believes.
He's almost nine, and I feel like he's close to another stage of his childhood. I was asked to please stop embarassing him the other day. All I was doing was acting goofy with a girl in kindergarten (who adores my attention, thank you very much). He doesn't like to hug and he's too big to pick up and carry around. He can barely fit on my lap. He has declared our game of trying to be the first one dressed in the morning (complete with a taunting song) to be almost too babyish for him.
It's hard to explain that sense of loss and gain all wrapped up in each milestone of Hijo's life. I love watching him grow up. I miss my baby. Almost every moment feels like that. I often ask myself who is this kid. I wish I could understand him better, wish I could explain to him all the complexities of trying to be a good parent so maybe he could understand me better.
I probably won't be writing about him as much now that my run here at Club Mom is just about through. From the day that he told me he didn't want to be referred to as "kidlet" online anymore I've been aware that I have to pay close attention to they way I talk about him in this public forum. Before too much longer, he'll have his own MySpace (or whatever it will be by then) page and will undoubtedly continue to be embarrassed by whatever it is that I do, both online and in real life. Such is the burden he must bear.
Meanwhile, they got their first snow in Seattle, where Hijo is with his dad this weekend. We got some big beautiful white flakes here yesterday, too, but they didn't last and I know he'll be disappointed when he gets back here to see the green grass.
I am going to my parents' house today to finish up addressing the invitations for their 50th Anniversary party. My mom was 18 when they got married. I don't think there's anything in my life now that was there when I was 18. I've struggled against sameness, it seems. And now I find myself mourning all the changes.