Eye to Eye

There was a time when I never thought this possible.

Back when we celebrated every ounce. Started him on a heavy cream diet: mashed potatoes with heavy cream, macaroni and cheese with heavy cream, cereal with heavy cream...mmm, heavy cream.

When we longed for our boy to find a spot on the curve instead of dwelling in the negative percentile for height and weight. When we x-rayed hands, drew blood, poked and prodded and took test after bloody test.

Back when we worried about vision, balance, movement, breath, and yes, growth.

(Long before communication, behavior, and incontinence trumped the list.)

Little Elias, we called him. My tiny baby. A micro-preemie boy.

Back then I never dreamed we'd see this day.

Yesterday, at his yearly check-up, during his fifteenth year, he measured in at five foot two.

Five foot two inches.

My stature exactly. The same height I've claimed since seventh grade.

I now stand eye to eye with my son. I guess I can no longer call him little.

His hands and shoulders outgrew mine years ago, but I've been claiming superior status.

"I'm still taller than you!" I taunted.

"No you're not!" he retorted.

"Yes, I am!"

Oh, the maturity I exemplify.

And here I am, eating my words for supper, while Elias dines on wild Alaskan salmon, caught with his own muscled hands, and looks me right in the eye.

(Oh so briefly, like the flutter of tiny wings, before he turns his head and lowers his eyes.)

Comments

[Alisa]

Sweet successes!!! And immaturity gets a bad rap

[Christy]

Thank you Alisa! And true, I do love being immature:)

[fleming]

He is so handsome Christy and I can just picture his bright blue eyes just before he looked away...

[Christy]

Ah, thank you Fleming!