Baby Steps

Every day it gets a little worse. Earlier this year, QB informed me that, no, I could not kiss him goodbye at the bus stop in the morning. A high five would have to do. It hit completely unexpectedly. The other parents and I shook our heads in bewilderment as the bus pulled away. He was only seven.

Soon thereafter, I was no longer allowed to sling my arm over his shoulders as we walked home from the bus in the afternoons. Should have seen that one coming. Instead, he'd hop on his bike and speed ahead of me. He was just a blur of green and blue as he raced home to grab a snack and run off again to play with his friends. 

Yesterday afternoon, Mopsy was off playing with the usual suspects and QB and I were messing around with the basketball in the driveway. We practiced some bounce passes, some chest passes, a lot of dribbling. QB tried out a few fancy spin-around moves. I silently congratulated myself for getting him to do something sporty that didn't involve batteries or a remote. Jarvis, I knew, would be thrilled. He's always haranguing me for not playing sports in the backyard with him instead of, say, making headbands with ribbons and little buttons. (It's something we've been known to do. QB is a most excellent accessories designer. One twisted-ribbon design of his was purchased by a few high-end boutiques, much to his delight.)

In the middle of my little back-patting session, a pack of neighborhood kids walked by our driveway. In a flash, QB tossed the ball into the sport caddy, darted in the house, and closed the door behind him. And we'd been having such a perfectly nice time. I knew why, of course. He didn't want to be seen playing with me.

"It was the big kids, Mom," he explained, his cheeks red with embarrassment. It's way cool to play b-ball with Dad, but Mom? Not a chance. 

Every day, he's wants less and less to do with me. It's heart-breaking. One day, eventually, he'll pack his things and leave. I'll probably be happy to get an occasional phone call. In another sense, the shift is gratifying. His budding independence must mean Jarv and I are doing our job half-way right. 

But I miss him.