Five years old and he hangs heavy on my hip.
His legs swinging down near my knees and his head rests on my shoulder.
I carry him to the van upon his request, even though it’s hot and he’s getting too big to be carried but sometimes it’s just easier to say yes to the little things and save the no for the big battles.
I shift his weight and think back to when his brothers were this age. Did I carry them, ever?
Most likely I didn’t carry my oldest then. Maybe once when he was sick?
After all, when he was a just-turned-five-year-old, he had one brother who was 3.5 and one who was 1.5. Most likely I was carrying the youngest and had the middle one’s hand clutched in a death grip to keep him from darting. I wouldn’t have carried him unless there was someone else right there with the other two.
And when my middle boy just turned five, he still had a three year old brother. Wouldn’t have made sense to carry him- I would have been holding all of their hands or perhaps carrying the three year old. Though he got carried more than the oldest, since I could carry him and Hubs could carry our youngest. But still- it wasn’t often.
So maybe I can tell my youngest, my just turned 5 big boy, that he’s too old to be carried.
Five means longer school days and drop-off playdates.
It’s a growing independence and fearlessness that often scares me.
It’s so much personality that you wonder how he fits it all in.
It’s wanting to do what the big kids are doing because he is a big kid, too.
It’s stopping his mama from calling him “my baby.”
Because five is not a baby any more.
It’s not as grown up as it seemed when I went through the first round of the fives, with two who were younger. And it’s not even as grown up as it seemed the second time around, when I had a three year old trailing behind.
When the baby of the family turned five, I realized that it is big… and yet still small. I wish I’d realized it earlier and taken more moments to carry my “big” boys. To hold them close and not want to rush them into doing everything on their own.
So my last boy to turn five… he’ll still get carried every once in a while.
Because soon enough, he’ll be running ahead, all on his own, all the time.
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