My son is 16.
When he was an infant in my arms, I showed him off to one of my husband’s co-workers. Her son was 16 at the time.
Teary-eyed she told me she had realized the other day that he doesn’t hold her hand anymore.
“I wish I had known, that last time, that it was the last time,” she said.
This haunted me.
When my son was old enough to hold my hand, I ordered, “Warn me before you stop holding my hand.”
Everytime he held my hand he would say, “Don’t worry Mama, this isn’t the last time.”
I just realized the other day, one of those times was a lie.
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Tags: 1993
January 29, 2009 at 9:33 am
i just asked milo the same thing the other day!
January 30, 2009 at 5:31 am
Oh my gosh, you’re killing me.
January 31, 2009 at 12:08 am
Tell him that I’m proud of him for growing up and not being a creepy mama’s boy!
October 13, 2009 at 10:23 pm
It’s okay. He stopped holding my hand too.