Just Like Me?

It amazes me, how, as you watch your children grow you see more and more of yourself in them. 

Lately, I’ve been noticing this about my son, W.  He’s 9 -- an age where he’s got a foot in two worlds and he’s not sure where he feels more comfortable.  I guess that’s what the whole tween thing is. 

He’s athletic and physical like his father was as a boy, but I’m beginning to see more of the introspection and the shyness that defined me as a child.  He’s an observer of situations.  He assesses to get a feel for the dynamics before he feels comfortable in joining a group. 

I did that.  He doesn’t seem to be self-conscious, necessarily (unlike me), he just seems to want to get a handle on things first.  Or maybe it's because he's a little shy.  He’s affectionate in his own way, but not the least bit demonstrative.  Which is a bummer to this mom who wants too many hugs and kisses.  BUT, again, he's like me.  I get it, and I have to respect it, but it doesn’t mean my arms don’t ache sometimes.  He’s quiet.  As a mom I worry that he has something on his mind, or something troubling him.  From experience I know he’s just doing some thinking.  And enjoys being alone with his thoughts. I remember my mother bringing me to tears on occasion trying to make sure I was OK (I was, I was just thinking).  At the time, I felt like I was being poked and prodded and talked to death, but now I understand.  It’s agony -- craving insight into your child.  But I'm reminded by my own experiences not to worry, that if he needs me he knows where to find me.  I just hope I can hold up my end of that bargain -- the worry part, that is.   

Truth is, I like that he's like me.  I feel a connection to him because of it.  And that's better than any hug.

He's becoming such a nice kid.  A mature kid.  A handsome kid.  

And I'm so grateful he's MY kid.  


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