My first baby turned eleven last weekend. I have been a mom for eleven years, and each day is still a new adventure. I am so lucky to have started this journey of parenthood with my sweet Jameson showing me the way. He has been a blessing from the start, and most days my saving grace. With an often stubborn and sometimes defiant toddler, two strong willed preschoolers and a very spirited eight year old, it is so refreshing to have an oldest who does what he is told, is respectful, hardworking, even-kealed, optimistic, patient, and happy. He is a pleasure to be around and I so enjoy his company and his conversations. Those conversations have taken on new meaning now that he is interested in discussing wordily events, all things sports or music related and can now chit chat with me as he rides beside me in the front seat! This eleventh year brought him changing classes for the first time, the role of a reggae band member in the play Dear Edwina, a baseball championship for his AAA team, a Yellow Submarine piano piece, an encounter with his favorite professional football coach, trips to New Hampshire, Florida and Myrtle Beach, finishing an Eight chapter Autobiography, taking the face-off on center ice at the Boston Garden with his hockey team, winning the English award for writing in school, serving as an alternate in the district wide spelling Bee, taking in a couple of Red Sox games, and a stellar report card.
Jameson is so responsible, and I'm not sure if it comes with the territory as being the oldest of five or if he was born this way, but I thank my lucky stars for him every day. That responsibility means I can trust him to watch his sisters while I attempt to get something done, means he will sit down to do his homework as soon as he gets off the bus from school and means he will set an example for the rest of his siblings.
My first born is really growing up and which means I have to learn to let go. I must now give him the independence he has earned. I let him walk uptown with a friend for the first time the other day; he took a $10 bill with him, bought a small Gatorade and returned nine dollars to his piggy bank. He wanted a phone for his birthday and now texts with his friends and neighbors. It is a funny age where he is trying to distinguish himself as the self-reliant middle-schooler, but still needs and wants his mom and Dad. He can stay home by himself while I run to drop a letter at the post office, is finally able to watch all of his dad's favorite movies with him, texts his friends to say "what's up?" but also hugs me when he walks in the door, falls asleep in our bed and has to be carried into his room, and texts me to say, "I love you mom." Well Jameson, I love you my sweet eleven year old and am so proud of your accomplishments and the young man you are shaping up to be. You are my star and not only bring a smile to my face each time you walk in the door but inspire me to try harder, laugh more, see the best in people and be the best mom I can be! Hope your twelfth year is filled with nothing but joy and laughter, XOXO Mommy