I enrolled him in middle school this week. I thought I might cry, but it turns out I just sat there beaming with pride that my son -- the little guy who was dead upon exit from my womb, who lived in hospitals more than in his house for many years -- is thriving, growing, and turning into a young man that has my heart. He spends his days off school doing service projects with church. He reads every night with his sister. He tells me that he's proud of me, still calls me "mommy" and gives me hugs so big they hurt, and he tells the WORST jokes (they aren't bad jokes, he just tells them badly!).
I thought he'd pick industrial arts, computer technology and some crazy math class for his electives (other than band, he plays the trumpet). Instead, as always, he surprised me. French and drama.
I'm excited for the year ahead, and for every year after, seeing him mature into the man that I pictured when I looked at him for the very first time. It feels like it was yesterday. Funny how being a mommy can do that to you.
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