It Hurts to Grow Up

 I was at the end of my second, seven day work week and the kids were transitioning stoically into their third week of school, when my 9-year-old son discovered he'd outgrown his favorite pair of jeans. They were black, fitted and frayed to perfection with a tear in the knee that was just the right size. We've all had that pair of jeans; molded over time into the most comfortable friend for which a butt could hope. 

Chris and I were in the kitchen when he came down the stairs dressed in nothing but his underwear. His jeans were laying limply across his forearms, as though they were a sacred relic he was offering up to the Gods. He was trying to stifle a sob as he informed me, "You can probably throw these away, now. They're too small." I saw his face curdle in the most heart-shattering way and a sound escaped my throat that was part chuckle, part moan. I hummed "Taps" as I lowered them into the trash and made a promise to buy him a new pair just like his favorite. "Whatever." He muttered shakily as he exited, ignoring my husband's unsolicited advice to cut the crap. "It's just a pair of jeans, for Christs sake!" But they weren't just a pair of jeans. Not to Evan and not to me, either.

This is Evan's last year in elementary school. He's a big fish in a small pond there. More importantly, he's in this safe little bubble where his innocence isn't seen as naivety. Next year, as he has been warned repeatedly, "things get real". More homework, more responsibility, more teachers and a slew of new kids who don't know how quirky and amazing he is and may not appreciate it as much as his current classmates. That, alone, is enough to overwhelm even the most stable of children. Add to all the school pressure the fact that his body is growing more rapidly than his brain; the evidence tangled uncomfortably in his gangly legs when he wants to snuggle with me on the couch or in the desperate leaps into our arms that are rejected because of his weight. The phrase, "I think you're getting too big for this, buddy," is a constant reminder of how his childhood is diminishing a little more with each passing day; becoming a little tighter and losing the comfort of it's familiar shape.Everything he knows is subtly changing and he's realizing that this change will not be slowed. Not by all the tears in the world. And there will be more tears, because unfortunately for Evan, he is just like his mother; unabashedly emotional. 

I went up to his room where he was laying on his stomach across the floor. He'd found a new pair of pants. Black, elastic-waisted pants he had deemed to be too long. He had his LEGOs strewn in front of him and though he kept picking up different pieces I don't think he was really looking at them. I asked him if he needed a hug, not because he seemed like he needed one, but because I really needed one. He climbed into my lap unhesitatingly and though the fit was awkward we embraced it with sad acceptance. The outgrown jeans were so much more than outgrown jeans. They were a metaphor for him slowly letting go of his childhood.


He's my baby. He's getting bigger and stronger. His hormones are already raging and they're only going to become more influential in his decision making. He has to break free and fly out of my arms no matter how tightly both of us are holding onto each other. That time will come...more quickly than I'm willing to admit...and when it does, it's going to hurt in such a wonderful way. Because I'll know I did my job and because he will always be my baby.

"Everybody knows

It hurts to grow up
But everybody does
It's so weird to be back here
Let me tell you what
The years go on and
We're still fighting it

And you're so much like me
I'm sorry."

-Ben Folds "Still Fighting It"