“Mom,” he said, sitting down beside me on the park bench. “I think I might be too old to be here.”
Too old for the playground?
“Mom, all these kids are so little. Maybe the playground is too small for me.”
And I looked around, really looked. And even though we were on the “big” playground, most of the other kids were his brothers’ ages or even younger.
So is 8 too old for the playground?
My 8 year old, whose socks I often get confused with my own. Whose head reaches above my shoulder these days.
Hubs and I were talking about how much we love our neighborhood elementary school and how we wouldn’t want our boys to have to go anywhere else- and then realized that our 8 year old only has three more years there and then he’ll be in middle school.
The shows his brothers watch are too babyish for him.
And he wants to do so much on his own. And he’s able to do so much on his own.
He’s not the chubby-cheeked little guy who held my hand on the walk to his first day of preschool any more.
He’s tall and confident and ready to try all kinds of new things.
It’s all going too fast.
Soon, he will be in middle school. He will be taller than me. He’ll cringe at the thought of holding my hand where his friends can see.
But for now- he’s only eight.
And while eight isn’t a baby boy any more, it’s still young enough to to try to swing high enough that his feet can touch the sky. To zoom down a slide. To be the king of the monkey bars. To run and play. To be carefree.
To hold on to childhood just a little bit longer.