This is a reprint of a Facebook post I wrote last year when my sweet boy turned 13. 

I have been looking through old pictures for days. I have been irritable. I have been sad. Teddy asked me twice last week, “Mom, are you going to cry on Friday?” Friday came and went and I did not cry. Yet I was still irritable and still sad.

Friday my first-born turned 13.

I didn’t post about it. I didn’t know what to say. What can you say about your tiny, sweet-faced child suddenly turning into a young man before your eyes?

This has been a year of growth for him; physical and emotional. He is tall. He is lanky. He finally has more hair on his upper lip than I do. He has random pimples he won’t let me touch. He puts his dishes in the sink when he’s done eating. He has polite conversations with adults and makes eye contact. He sometimes wears JEANS instead of track pants!! He showed me a science presentation on magnetism that I hardly understood. I barely know who this kid is that is living in my house.

Everyone tells you the same things: The days are long but the years are short. It goes by so fast. Enjoy it while it lasts. Eye rolling clichés. But all true. Wasn’t it just yesterday that he was listing the names of all of the Thomas the Train engines? Weren’t we just taking mom and tot tumbling class at the Rec Center? What happened? How was I not ready? Why is it so hard to remember those years we spent together, just him and me?

I have been looking at things in terms of years now. Three more years until he is driving. Five more years until he goes away to college and probably never comes back to live at my house permanently. (Okay, we are Greek so that last one might not be true. He may be back until he’s 30 and then that will be a whole different post.)

My Teddy turned 13 on Friday. He doesn’t need me to tuck him into bed anymore. He doesn’t need me to make him a snack. He doesn’t even remember the names of Thomas trains anymore. We took off the cars and trucks bedding and exchanged it with a sports theme. He’d rather be spending time with his friends than with us.

I wish I remembered each and every minute we spent together. I look at the pictures and I wish I could go back and revel in all the moments. The good ones and the bad ones. The thing is, very rarely do you sense you are experiencing one of those moments while you are in it. It’s the reflecting that punches you in the gut.

My sweet boy turned 13 on Friday. And things will never be the same.