I have mentioned more than once that I am not a fan of the motherhood sucker punch. I can handle big transitions I see coming. I can handle the milestones after I've watched the process to get there. I can handle the incremental changes of watching my kids grow up. It's the milestones that blindside me that I really struggle through.
I got sucker punched last night.
I picked a very happy Issa up at dance, and she actually let me come up to the "no parents allowed" dancer's loft (because her friends had gone home and the big girls were all in class) to see her locker. She showed me how she had decorated and how she had organized. I know it sounds like a little thing, but it was such a big deal to me that she invited me in to this little corner of her world. I was on cloud nine.
We headed home to meet the boys after Evan's soccer practice, and it happened: Evan held up his first ever jersey with a big old "8" on the back. He's number 8.
I haven't seen him that excited in a long time, and I bit the inside of my cheek and gushed about how cool that jersey is.
Yes...I have known he is on a real team. Yes...I knew he would get a team shirt and socks. I just had pictured a little t-shirt that looked exactly like everyone else's. There is something about that 8 on jersey material that makes it that much bigger. He's bigger.
Next week, we have our first game. He will be 8 on the field, proudly wearing his jersey and white socks, and I will take all kinds of pictures and cheer on the Zebras, including my not so little man.