The boys are growing up. Willy is 14. Alex is 13. Ben, my baby, is 10 years old.
In our society, especially now that a lot of women are pursuing careers before families, there’s a lot of talk about the ticking of biological clocks. I had my children young, so I’m still usually younger than the mothers of my children’s peers. I don’t really identify with the ticking biological clock. I’m in my early 30s. I could still have more children if I wanted to.
But I’ve got my hands full. And I can’t help but notice that Willy is only 5 years away from the age when I had him. That’s my biological clock.
I think back to who I was when I was 10, 13, and 14. I look at my children. I worry.
I remember people saying things like, “She’s growing up so fast.” Though, as a child, it never seemed like fast enough.
People don’t say that about my kids. They say things like, “They’re getting so big!” They say, “I can’t believe how tall he’s gotten.”
My boys are growing up. Their bodies are getting bigger. Willy is taller than I am now. Alex, still standing on his tip-toes, of course, can look me in the eye. Flat-footed he has about two inches to go before he hits my height. Ben is smaller. But, still, they’re all growing and maturing.
At least physically.
When it comes to emotional, social, and other life skills…
I worry that I won’t be able to provide them with the support and resources they need to pursue their dreams. I worry that society will still be stuck in its unacceptable attitudes that deny them the right to dream like their peers. I hope that they dream anyway. But hope doesn’t feel like enough.