Brace yourself, betches. I bring the mushiness with this post.
Left: first day of kindergarten. Right: last day of kindergarten.
I feel the need to explain that he is standing a few feet closer to the camera in the second picture, so his little growth spurt is exaggerated. He’s not that much taller, but he is shooting up faster than I can say “flood pants.”
These pictures make me think of the ending scenes in Juno. As Juno recovers with Bleeker, Vanessa peers into the nursery trying to peek at the new baby. The nurse steps out and asks Vanessa if she would like to meet her son. Vanessa, stunned, does not answer yes or no, but instead repeats, incredulously, “I have a son.”
The incredible thing about parenthood is how different it is for everyone, and how similar at the same time. Vanessa does not give birth to her child, but the moment she says the words, “I have a son,” for the first time, their bond is solidified. As incredible as it was to say, “I have a son,” on December 6, 2001, it’s even more amazing every time I say it. Today, saying, “I have a son. He is now a first-grader,” I feel the same thrill that I did when I declared that he was a member of this world, that he shall forever be known as a human being and a citizen of this planet, as my son.
Parenthood does not have a single origin or formula, but the results are always thrilling.
I have a son. He is a first-grader. He reads. He writes. He still wraps his arms and legs around me in the morning when I get him out of bed.
I have a son.