(Max was twelve on June 14th. Happy birthday.)
In twelve more years, things will not be as they are now.
In twelve more years, you will no longer be my twelve year old son.
You will be twice as old as you are now.
You will no doubt be taller, broader, more of the you you’re growing into.
You will be my oldest, still.
The first to make me a mother.
In twelve more years I wonder if I will look back to now. I wonder if I will remember your shoulder shrug chuckle and your constant interjection of usually random input. I wonder if you will still need to be told to take a shower and if you will remember your passion for Minecraft and Mario.
I hope I do.
But for now, while you are still my twelve year old son, I want you to know that I am proud of you. That I may never accomplish anything greater than I did when I gave birth to you and your sisters. That you are one of my greatest moments.
In twelve more years I will be just as proud. Prouder. Thank you for allowing me to be your mom. I will spend twelve more years watching you become a better person every day.