A love letter to mothers of middle school boys

I see you negotiating showers and screen time, and coats in the winter, and homework, and chores.

I see you repeating yourself a hundred times, biting your tongue, and trying to take calming breaths before shouting through the house for that boy. 

I see you eyes closed, deep breaths, praying for patience; just enough to get through this day with this boy.

I see you baffled at how he grows over night; inching closer to pass you up in height each day. 

I see you search drawers and closets and dirty hampers for pants that will actually fit, and buying bigger shoes too often, slipping your own feet easily into his shoes to run to the mailbox, how sometimes you don't recognize him from far away because everything about him looks different; how he is even adjusting the way he moves to this new body that is growing faster than his mind and muscles can keep up. 

I see you picking up dirty clothes, dodging thrown balls, turning down volumes, finding misplaced hats and shoes, washing jerseys and lucky socks, smoothing out wrinkled permission slips, remembering passwords, and throwing away snack wrappers that were pushed down into the couch cushions.

I see you taking smaller portions at dinner to accommodate for his third or fourth plate before you start making double at mealtimes and being surprised that even then you still don't have leftovers. 

I see you choosing battles because there's so many lessons you need to get into that heart and brain, that maybe getting the dirty laundry into the hamper isn't the one that is the most important in the grand scheme of raising a decent kind man. 

I see you walk past him and still reach out a hand to ruffle hair, or rub his back, or put a hand on his shoulder, or give him a hug and kiss out the door even as he hurries because he is too big and busy for his momma now.

I see you look across the dinner table and ponder at what could possibly be going through that boy's head only to watch him burp or fart or shovel food into his mouth and wipe it on his sleeve and wonder how in the world this miniature man arrived at your table. 

I see you trying desperately to learn the names of videogames and professional athletes and youtubers and book characters; anything that can keep you afloat in a conversation with this boy and whatever it is that occupies his mind. 

I see you still asking daily about his friends and classmates and teachers and schoolwork and his hopes and his plans for the weekend, even when the answers generally come out in grunts and one syllables and "I don't know" or "nothing"

I see you having tough and uncomfortable conversations about respect and internet searches and consent and body parts and hygiene and relationships and organization and expectations and all the difficult, scary, awkward, sometimes brutal parts of growing up. 

I see how your heart breaks when he experiences disappointment or pain and you ache to take it away from him like you used to be able to with a band-aid and a kiss. I see how you struggle to balance between taking that pain away and knowing disappointments in the future will be easier if you let him practice on his own. How you offer a listening ear but let him figure it out even as you let tears roll down your cheeks when you are out of his sight. 

I see you going to bed with a heart heavy of guilt and exhaustion questioning if you did anything but correct behavior and nag that boy all day long. 

I see you going to bed with a heart heavy with worry that you are doing everything wrong and is he ever going to hear you and these lessons that you are trying to pour into him. 

And I see you in your nightly rounds of checking on everyone in their beds when you stop and stare at that boy. I see you how you smile and stare in awe and wonder at those soft cheeks and long eyelashes of that boy that makes you so crazy all day but here he sleeps and somehow you can still make out that little boy who held your hand and twirled your hair absentmindedly while you held his whole body easily in your arms.
that seems like only a few blinks ago
or was it ages ago
it's hard to to tell
it feels like both in the same breath. 

And I know how your heart releases the weight of a tiny worry when someone tells you what a great kid he was when they were with him. 

I know how the breath catches in your throat when you see him being kind or generous when he doesn't know you are watching. 

I know how you hold your breath with your heart ablaze with fierce pride as you see him doing the thing he loves on the court or field or stage or mat or woods or track or competition. 

I know how your heart soars when he unexpectedly does something selfless or thoughtful; how you look at him in true astonishment when you see a glimpse of the man you are hoping to raise who is decent and kind. How for the briefest of moments you think with deep relief and hope, "thank goodness, he is still pointed in the right direction." 

Mommas, know that you are still home base.
the journey will make us weary, but we can endure.

not without help though, mommas, 
so lean hard into the 
help, guidance, and support
of people we can be grateful are present in our son's life 
people he inevitably hears more clearly than his mother right now
his dad, uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers, coaches, beloved teachers
we cannot do this alone; we don't have to

but we also must continue to be present
to keep trying to get those lessons in
to not back down
to set limits and boundaries and expectations
to be the bad guy
to reach out to touch and hug and kiss

to be a witness to his life
because even if he's not saying it aloud anymore
he is still calling out to you
"Momma, watch this."

My boy, 

who has always simultaneously

broken and mended my heart

my biggest baby; my first baby

I don't know what I'm doing at all

but you have been a fierce and courageous usher

into each new age and stage

Grey, thank you but also, good grief, dude.

I know you will be a decent man

we just have to get through all this growing up

both of us are trying to struggle against this process

I'm trying too buddy.

thank you for your patience with me. 

you are worth all these wrinkles and sleepless nights

your siblings will have an easier path because you went first

and that sucks

but also will someday be a blessing in your life

(I know from experience as a first born).

I love you, dude. 

it's a rough path, but we got this. 

It is my greatest honor in life to witness your life and the life of your siblings.

I'm watching, baby.

always.

I am so proud to be your momma.

forever and ever.