I remember lots of things about my children as babies. How they smelled (oh, that delicious baby smell), their infectious laugh, their wobbly first steps. Lots of precious memories.
Of my oldest, I distinctly remember carrying him around in a pouch on my chest. It was the safest place I could keep him. Attached to me.
As a mom, we spend a lot of time protecting our ducklings, don’t we? We worry, we fuss, we keep a close eye on them. Because let’s face it, we’d give our lives to protect our children.
And for all of the eighteen years I’ve been home with my kids, this is the role I’ve played. Protector. Until yesterday.
We had an incident last night that left me unsettled. Nothing major (but I didn’t know this at the time), just something that made my tummy twist into knots and had me worried about the safety of my kids.
Sensing that something was amiss, Aidan came to my side. “I’ve got this mom”, he said. And he said it with such calm and confidence that I couldn’t help but feel comforted.
That same baby that I wore tucked between my bosom is now a good two inches taller than myself. His shoulders are broad and he looks like he could work on a farm. Strapping. He is now able to physically protect me.
It was in this moment that I finally saw my son for what he is, a man.
My role as protector for this particular child is over in some very real ways. Of course I will always try to protect him from whatever I’m able, but the point is that he is now able to defend himself and also his family.
The roles have been reversed. And as right and as natural as I know this is, I just didn’t seeing it coming.