The hand-off
I was sitting on the couch next to Cory in my favorite spot when it happened. My almost 14 year old son, Levi, walked through the room and stopped right in front of me to show off some of the new boxing moves he's been learning. For several months now, Levi and Cory have been waking up at 5 am twice a week to go work out together at a local boxing gym.
The fact that my teenager willingly wakes up at 5:00am is something to take note of.
Cory jumped up from his spot on the couch next to me and started shadow boxing our oldest red-head. As I watched father and son throw jabs and uppercuts at each other while bobbing and weaving in perfect rhythm I felt my heart whispering, "It's happening. Right in front of you. It's happening. This is the hand-off."
The thing about being a momma, and the thing about being a momma to a little boy is that they love you fiercely. They crawl up in your lap, pick you flowers, come running when they hear you cry, and get jealous when you explain you can't marry them because you are already married to Daddy.
In my early parenting years I often felt like a single mom. I wasn't, but emotionally it felt like it sometimes. Cory has always been an engaged father, but little boys don't want daddy. They want momma. The term "Momma's Boy" is a thing for a reason.
Levi was my first Momma's Boy. I held his little face in my hands as an infant. I held his sippy cup as a toddler. I grabbed his ears when he wouldn't sit still during church. I held his wrist when he tried to run across the street. I held his hand on the first day of kindergarten and held him in my arms when he came home early and homesick from his first sleep over. I held his heart the first time his feelings were hurt and the first time he hurt someones else. And as he grew I cheered from the soccer sidelines, laughed at his movie quoting, and saw all the "watch-me" flips he did on the trampoline. Together we made it through all the growing up milestones. I delighted in my front row seat to his life, watching his personality unfold.
Sitting on the couch I watched him in the present while all the memories from the past flooded my heart. I had a vision of Levi and I rounding another of life's laps together, hand in hand like always, ready to dominate his last year of junior high. When I looked down the track ahead, suddenly I saw Cory appear at the starting line waiting for us. He was squatting in a runners position with his hand outstretched and a look on his face that said "I'll take it from here."
In one motion, before I had time to realize what was happening, Levi's hand slipped from my grip and into Cory's open palm as they linked together and continued in stride around the track's next corner. It was seamless, musical almost, like two well trained athletes passing a baton. The hand-off. They raced on and I stayed behind.
Little boys want Momma, but big boys need Daddy.
As I sat on the couch watching father and son shadow box in front of me, I was struck by Levi's recent growth spurt. His weekly workouts are adding bulk to his slender frame. I can feel it in his shoulders when I hug him. He still hasn't passed me in height, but it's coming soon. The changes in his physical stature are such tangible evidence of his growth, there is no denying I'm losing my little boy. In front of me is a teenager who now cares about how his hair looks and has started flirting with girls. It is surreal.
Back on the couch I kept watching the pseudo-boxing dual. I saw Cory jab and Levi watch his dad closely and react to his movements. Over and over again, Levi was alert, engaged, mirroring Cory's every move, copying his Daddy.
My vision returns and I'm still standing on the track in the same place I was when they took off without me. Cory's got a firm grip on Levi's hand, and as they make the first turn they both look back to see my face.
I'm at the starting line. My hand is outstretched, but I'm not reaching or longing.
I'm waving. I'm cheering. I'm screaming, "I trust you. He's all yours."
The fact that my teenager willingly wakes up at 5:00am is something to take note of.
Cory jumped up from his spot on the couch next to me and started shadow boxing our oldest red-head. As I watched father and son throw jabs and uppercuts at each other while bobbing and weaving in perfect rhythm I felt my heart whispering, "It's happening. Right in front of you. It's happening. This is the hand-off."
The thing about being a momma, and the thing about being a momma to a little boy is that they love you fiercely. They crawl up in your lap, pick you flowers, come running when they hear you cry, and get jealous when you explain you can't marry them because you are already married to Daddy.
In my early parenting years I often felt like a single mom. I wasn't, but emotionally it felt like it sometimes. Cory has always been an engaged father, but little boys don't want daddy. They want momma. The term "Momma's Boy" is a thing for a reason.
Levi was my first Momma's Boy. I held his little face in my hands as an infant. I held his sippy cup as a toddler. I grabbed his ears when he wouldn't sit still during church. I held his wrist when he tried to run across the street. I held his hand on the first day of kindergarten and held him in my arms when he came home early and homesick from his first sleep over. I held his heart the first time his feelings were hurt and the first time he hurt someones else. And as he grew I cheered from the soccer sidelines, laughed at his movie quoting, and saw all the "watch-me" flips he did on the trampoline. Together we made it through all the growing up milestones. I delighted in my front row seat to his life, watching his personality unfold.
Sitting on the couch I watched him in the present while all the memories from the past flooded my heart. I had a vision of Levi and I rounding another of life's laps together, hand in hand like always, ready to dominate his last year of junior high. When I looked down the track ahead, suddenly I saw Cory appear at the starting line waiting for us. He was squatting in a runners position with his hand outstretched and a look on his face that said "I'll take it from here."
In one motion, before I had time to realize what was happening, Levi's hand slipped from my grip and into Cory's open palm as they linked together and continued in stride around the track's next corner. It was seamless, musical almost, like two well trained athletes passing a baton. The hand-off. They raced on and I stayed behind.
Little boys want Momma, but big boys need Daddy.
As I sat on the couch watching father and son shadow box in front of me, I was struck by Levi's recent growth spurt. His weekly workouts are adding bulk to his slender frame. I can feel it in his shoulders when I hug him. He still hasn't passed me in height, but it's coming soon. The changes in his physical stature are such tangible evidence of his growth, there is no denying I'm losing my little boy. In front of me is a teenager who now cares about how his hair looks and has started flirting with girls. It is surreal.
Back on the couch I kept watching the pseudo-boxing dual. I saw Cory jab and Levi watch his dad closely and react to his movements. Over and over again, Levi was alert, engaged, mirroring Cory's every move, copying his Daddy.
My vision returns and I'm still standing on the track in the same place I was when they took off without me. Cory's got a firm grip on Levi's hand, and as they make the first turn they both look back to see my face.
I'm at the starting line. My hand is outstretched, but I'm not reaching or longing.
I'm waving. I'm cheering. I'm screaming, "I trust you. He's all yours."
posted by Christina at
3:26 PM
1 Comments:
Ok, you are killing me today. I clearly should not try to catch up on your blog in a morning! My oldest son is only 10, but I already see the beginnings of this. It feels a little strange because his sister is older and it is so different with girls. Thank you again for writing this. It was really well done.
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