As a mother, navigating the milestones of my youngest son, Oliver, has been both rewarding and bittersweet. Last month, he celebrated his seventh birthday, a moment I initially brushed aside amidst the chaos of our recent move. The transition to a new home, along with acclimating my two boys to different schools, occupied my mind. However, the preparations for Oliver’s birthday party consumed my thoughts.
I was determined to ensure that friends from his previous school attended, while also welcoming new classmates. The cake was non-negotiable—it had to be his favorite Carvel ice cream cake. The requested flying rocket goody bags were also in the mix. I just wanted everything to be perfect so he could have the celebration he envisioned. Thankfully, the party went splendidly, and I watched Oliver beam with joy throughout the event.
Yet, in the midst of the festivities, I didn’t fully grasp the significance of this milestone until a few days later. My husband and I attended a family wedding that Saturday night. As I prepared to leave my boys in the care of my mother, I realized I felt surprisingly calm about being away from them. Oliver was now seven—a big boy, I reassured myself.
The evening was enjoyable, and upon returning home, I was greeted by my son, who rushed to me and sobbed into my waist. “I missed you so much,” he cried, “I love you, I love you, I love you!” His heartfelt words stirred something deep within me.
As I settled him into bed, he requested to be hugged tightly until he drifted off to sleep. Admittedly, I felt reluctant at first. I was exhausted and had just spent hours in uncomfortable shoes. Yet, as I embraced him, I realized these moments were fleeting.
Lying there, I recognized this could be one of the last times I held him in such a way. I tried to recall when I last held his older brother, Ethan, in my arms as he fell asleep. Seven feels like a significant transition—still young enough to be my baby, but on the cusp of becoming a full-fledged tween. Seven still fits in my lap, still clings to me, still expresses affection with sweet words and gestures.
The innocence of childhood is still present at this age. Seven is closer to the tender years of five or six than the complexities of nine or ten. I could still catch a hint of that baby scent lingering in Oliver’s hair, and I felt tears welling up as I realized how quickly time passes. I don’t know when the last time will be that he will ask me to cuddle him to sleep or press his face against the school bus window as it departs.
This awareness makes me cherish every moment even more. I’ll hold on to his seven-year-old self tightly, as a mother, because the clock is ticking, and these precious moments are too fleeting. For further insights on navigating parenthood and the emotional journey of childhood, check out this engaging post on our website.
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Summary
As my youngest son turns seven, I’m struck by how quickly childhood is slipping away. A recent family wedding highlighted how my emotional connection to him is deepening, as I notice the last moments of his babyhood. This age is a bittersweet transition, and I’m determined to savor every hug and heartfelt moment before they become memories.
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