My sweet little Tree Frog is a high school Freshman as of today.

Really.

When I woke up this morning, I was flooded with memories.

The day he was born, when I had to have an emergency C-section because my blood pressure was stroke level. I was awake but high as a kite. I thought I was talking non-stop, but apparently the conversations were all in my head. However, when they pulled him out and showed him to me, I did manage to say, “He looks like a grape.”

His first Christmas that I missed because I had to work. He was 9 months old and trying to walk. He was still bald but he had a mouthful of teeth. I treasured the pictures from that year for a long time. He didn’t know I wasn’t there, but I knew it and it broke my heart.

His first REAL Halloween costume. He went to Daycare as a Fisherman. He wore overalls and a matching plaid shirt and hat that I got from BabyGap. We tied a fish potholder to a string and a stick and he drug that around with him for a week.

I remembered his first real projectile vomit. He wasn’t quite 2 years old. I was taking him to daycare. We were at a stop light, I turned around to admire him (as I always did) he smiled and flooded the car with his breakfast. It was horrifying and funny all at the same time.

The cowboy boots he wore EVERYWHERE with EVERYTHING.

How much he loved playing in the ‘sock basket’ and playing inside boxes or baskets in general.

After his brother was born, he named my breasts ‘Milk and Lunch’.

Of course, there are other memories, but for some reason, the baby years are the ones I’m holding on to the most today. Maybe because now he’s only 1/2 inch shorter than me when we’re barefooted. Maybe because his voice is deep and scratchy now. Or it could be the fact that he has to shave sometimes. I dunno. He’s growing up and I want to remember the 5 lb. 6 oz Tree Frog who was born almost 4 weeks early and looked like a grape. I wish I could hold his tiny little naked bottom in the palm of my hand again. I want to feel his long , flexible fingers wrap around mine and see his tiny, dark blue eyes stare at me with love and adoration.

Cuz I promise, when they stare at me now, there is nothing even close to adoration in there. Love, yes–irritation, yes–adoration? Hah.