I can't dance in front of my children anymore. They were once the only safe harbor for public dancing, where i could move with reckless abandon and pretend that i had some sort of rhythm. Today that would be met with "daaaaad." Soon, I imagine, the response would be a fair degree of mortification.
But Riley still holds my hand. At 10, he still occassionally reaches for mine, the safety of my grip still means something, and he is for now unconcerned with how this might look to others. I secretly I love this.
But i can no longer carry him on my shoulders. Kylen either. Ky did the 'body walk' on me a while back. I held his hands and he walked up my legs and did a flip through his arms. It damn near killed me.
They take their own showers now. This one, I find, is a wonderful advancement, although i suspect there are often still layers of grime when they are done. I've had to explain to Ri that sitting in a bathtub of hot water with no soap is not some magical cure for dirty. Kylen, at 8, still won't tie his own shoes. This one kills me, especially from mister independent. He gets so frustrated he gives up, and when that kid gets frustrated it's like a black cloud descending from the heavens, with no hope of quick sunshine. He can hang onto a bad mood like few people I know. I have this image of me tying his shoes as we rush for the bus the first day of high school. Ri finally ties his own, but does it so poorly I can't believe he doesn't just walk out of them. This from a kid who does math equations I have to use a computer to figure out.
Slowly, little by little, Ri's favorite activity, talking to himself, is subsiding, as he sequesters it to fewer and fewer places. We've taught him that there are places it's fine, and places that--for better or for worse--he just can't do that anymore. I know it's part of parenting...teaching your child the ways to be part of society, but it's sad to do. His conversations with himself (at ear-shattering decibels) is one of his defining characteristics, containing so much of his personality and creativity, and it's hard to tell him that the bus just isn't the place for it. But I see him understanding. He gets it. He's resigned to it, but as he says, "I like talking to myself...it makes me me."
Yes, it does. And that--along with dads who can no longer dance--is why growing up sucks.
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