Ten years, eleven months, fifteen days, and twenty-eight minutes. That’s how long my son, Jake, has graced the world. How can it be?
I won’t exaggerate and say it feels like “just yesterday,” because, in truth, it feels like a lifetime. Yet, it’s hard to grasp that I’ve been a mother for over a decade, and that we are well past the midway point of this delightful journey called “childhood.”
Lately, I find myself gazing at Jake, yearning to find traces of the little boy he once was. Where did that child disappear to? His chubby cheeks are a memory, his almond-shaped eyes have rounded out, and even his shaggy hair has been trimmed. My little boy is morphing into someone new, and I realize that these transformations will only speed up in the coming years.
Parenting is a constant source of surprise—not just because it’s more challenging, rewarding, and fulfilling than I ever imagined, but also because time doesn’t follow a straight path. It twists and turns, causing days to feel eternal while whole years slip away unnoticed. The milestones I once anticipated—like walking, starting school, or losing that first tooth—have faded into the background of our daily routine.
It’s those ordinary Tuesday evenings, the midweek car rides, and impromptu dance sessions in the kitchen that become our cherished memories. So, as I reflect on ten years, eleven months, fifteen days, and twenty-eight minutes, it feels monumental.
When Jake turned ten—double digits!—we celebrated with our usual enthusiasm, but without much sentimentality. A small gathering with close friends, a few renditions of “Happy Birthday,” and no tears or parental worries about time flying by.
Yet now, at ten years, eleven months, fifteen days, and twenty-eight minutes, I find myself pondering: Is this the pinnacle of childhood? Is this the last golden age before we transition into the tumult of preadolescence? I’m feeling a whirlwind of emotions.
I’m not one to long for the baby years or rush into what’s next. I genuinely believe every phase has its unique beauty—be it infancy, toddlerhood, or this magical “sweet spot.” Even the challenging “threeager” stage holds fond memories for me. I reject the notion that “little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems.” Each stage comes with its own set of joys and trials. I’ll likely love and loathe the teenage years just as I did the newborn phase.
But…ten. Ten years, eleven months, fifteen days, and twenty-eight minutes.
Sigh… This feels different. It’s a turning point. If I blink, I worry I’ll see childhood fading away like a rainbow in the rearview mirror. At ten, one foot is still in childhood while the other is cautiously stepping into preteen territory and eventually, adulthood.
Ten is a time for sports, video games, and drawing creatures from imagination. It’s baseball gear and the thrill of catching a fly ball, but also the disappointment of striking out.
Ten brings slammed doors, followed by hugs and apologies. It’s deep conversations about tough topics like faith and social issues. Jake is starting to form his own opinions and knows when to call it quits on a discussion.
Ten is about watching movies like Moana and Star Wars, singing along to bands like The XX and Imagine Dragons (even if he gets the lyrics wrong). It’s the occasional slip of profanity and playful jokes. It’s finally grasping the concept of sarcasm.
Ten is loud and chaotic, filled with fidget spinners and bottle flips. It’s also tender moments with handmade cards and comforting a friend in need. Jake still crawls into bed for morning cuddles, but instead of cartoons, SportsCenter is now on.
Ten means dealing with smelly shirts and sweaty armpits, and constant reminders to take a shower. It’s leaning in for public hugs but shying away from holding hands. It’s long bedtime snuggles one night and quick farewells the next.
Ten is about spending short periods at home alone and walking to the corner store for candy, sometimes bringing back a treat for mom. It’s forgetting homework one day but acing a spelling test the next. It’s rolling his eyes at romantic scenes in action flicks and wanting to see scary movies while covering his eyes. It’s rapidly growing feet and a forehead that rests on my shoulder.
Ten embodies the essence of being both little and big. And yes, ten really does feel like the last best age of childhood.
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In summary, reaching the age of ten marks a significant shift in childhood. It’s a blend of nostalgia and excitement as children transition from the tender years of early childhood to the more complex preteen phase.
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