Liam turned 6 this weekend. On Saturday. And I did okay. I was more stressed about hosting my first Thanksgiving (and cooking my first turkey) on Thursday and having a birthday party for Liam on Saturday (not to mention Black Friday shopping).
I suppose, in my own little way, I kept my mind busy. As long as I was occupied, I wasn't focused on the fact that my first baby, my little "dooder" was turning SIX on Saturday.
We filled his room with green and yellow balloons and gave him a Green Bay Packers blanket, along with surprising him with Aunts, Uncle, Ma'am, Papa and Grandma and Grandpa at his party. And yet, it never hit me. I even lit all six candles and carried the cake to him.
But tonight. At dinner. I asked him to set the table and handed him the plates and silverware and he said, "Mommy, can I have a real fork?" I realized I gave him two adult silverware and three toddler silverware.
"But can't you use the one I gave you," I asked.
"No, Mommy. I'm a big boy. I'm six. I need a real fork."
I don't know what it was, but the "I'm six. I need a real fork" really hit me. He IS six. He DOES need a real fork. And then, I started thinking (which is always dangerous). He's SIX. In ten years, he'll be driving. In eight years, he'll have a permit. In three years he'll probably be taller than me....where is my little baby?? My little dooder?
And I take a breath. Because, only once in a while now, but he still does, after his bath, he asks me to cradle him and sing "he's my baby, he's my baby" like I did when Daddy was in Iraq. He still remembers. I hope he always does. Whether he is 6 or 66.