Last month, my youngest son, Jake, celebrated his seventh birthday. Initially, I barely registered the occasion. We had just relocated, and my focus was consumed by unpacking, settling into our new home, and helping my two boys acclimate to their new schools and routines. With Jake’s birthday party fast approaching, I felt overwhelmed with the details. I was anxious about ensuring that friends from his old school could attend, along with some new buddies. I wanted to make sure we had his favorite Carvel ice cream cake and the flying rocket goody bags he had requested. All I wanted was for the party to be perfect, so he could enjoy his special day.
Thankfully, the party was a success, and Jake beamed with joy throughout the event. I felt relieved, but it wasn’t until a few days later that the significance of turning seven hit me like a wave of emotion.
One Saturday, my husband and I attended a family wedding while my mother watched the boys. The thought of being out for the evening felt a bit daunting since I rarely get that time away. But for the first time in ages, I felt completely at ease leaving Jake, who had officially turned seven—a big boy now!
The evening unfolded without a hitch. Upon returning home, I was greeted by a tearful Jake, who hurried over and wrapped his arms around me. “I missed you so much,” he sobbed. “I love you!” He seemed a bit groggy and fatigued, but I couldn’t help but savor that moment.
As I tucked him into bed, he asked me to hold him tightly until he drifted off to sleep. At first, I hesitated, feeling fatigued and wanting to unwind. However, I realized how desperately he craved my presence as he surrendered to sleep. In that moment, I understood that I was witnessing the final flickers of his babyhood.
I couldn’t remember the last time I held his older brother, Max, now twelve, as he fell asleep or when Max last cried into my shirt after being apart. While I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment of “lasts,” I knew that seven was the cusp of a significant transition. Soon, Jake would be a full-blown tween, less inclined to seek comfort in my arms.
Seven is still small enough to fit in my lap, still clings tightly, and still expresses how much he misses me when we’re apart. It’s a tender age, filled with innocence and a hint of sass, and I cherish every moment of it. As I breathed in the sweet scent of his hair, I felt tears well up. Jake is my last little one, and I’m acutely aware that these moments are fleeting. The last time he’ll curl up on my lap during a sick day or press his face against the school bus window, looking back at me with longing, is approaching faster than I can imagine.
I know I must hold onto this precious age for dear life, because soon enough, those moments will slip away, and I may not even realize it’s happening.
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In summary, my youngest son turning seven has awakened in me a profound awareness of how quickly childhood passes. As I navigate this bittersweet transition, I grasp every hug and moment of connection with him, knowing that soon, these precious years will be a memory.