He asks for help cleaning his room.
He won’t call a friend on the phone, makes me arrange play-dates (and still calls them “play-dates”).
He needs to be reminded, daily, to brush his teeth and hair.
He refuses to attempt to make his own lunch, citing a lack of familiarity with the contents of our cupboards.
He`s still my little boy.
But this morning….
I was struggling with lid on a bottle of juice.
(Blueberry, to be specific.)
And without thinking, I handed him the bottle.
And without asking, he opened it.
I stopped, feeling more gravity than the moment, on the surface, seemed to merit.
I am as liberated and independent and blah blah as the next chick. But I have never had an issue asking the men in my life for help with a stuck-on lid.
The men in my life….
I can feel my little boy knocking on the door, on the cusp of joining their ranks.