There is a point in a little boy’s life when he decides that it is no longer acceptable to freely expose his emotions. And I think it happens somewhere around eight years old.
It would seem that my days of kissing boo boos and using “mommy magic” to make everything better is sadly drawing close to an end. My youngest informed tonight at dinner that he had received an injury recently that he never even told me about. He didn’t want to worry me and he wanted to prove, mostly to himself I would imagine, that he was tough enough to handle it himself.
Now I have dealt with my share of little boy cuts, scrapes and bruises. I have performed all kinds of “mom surgeries” – well, mostly ones of the splinter removal variety. I have soothed hurt feelings, wounded egos and broken hearts. I have applied ice, heat, bandages and love. I have held my boys while they cried and often times I have cried along with them.
So when I hear that after a recent injury, J wanted to cry, but then didn’t, I have mixed emotions. I am proud of his courage and bravery. I am glad to see that he is becoming more self-sufficient. And I am saddened by the fact that my special mommy healing powers are not needed as frequently as they once were.
I feel like I want to cry, but then I don’t.