Last night, you remembered what you wore on your first day of kindergarten. That memory tugged a quiet string in me I had forgotten the shirt I made you, customized with love to mark a beginning. But you didn’t forget.
As we laid out your clothes for another first day, you reminded me softly, sweetly that this year, you would ride the bus. That you'd sleep in your own bed. Two milestones, no resistance, just quiet courage.
You are growing not just taller, but braver, more yourself.
Today, you chose your style. You did your own hair with only a little help. You woke before the alarm, dressed, and stood already becoming.
I feel time slipping through the spaces between us your childhood like sand I cannot hold but still, I watch, in awe.
You still carry your button nose, your dimpled smile, the magic that made me a mother.
And I love you. All of you. The boy you’ve been, the one you are, and the greatness you’re shining into.