You’ve only grown a foot or more in the last year.
Shrugged out of the preteen angst that you’ve worn for longer than I enjoyed it.
Stepped into a new tenderness, a new strength, a new depth.
Become a young man.
Somewhere in this thirteenth year.
You’ve reached deep into my heart and made me love more than I’ve loved before.
And become a man I’m proud of.
One who thinks deeply, who loves well, who’s not afraid to be sad, or angry, or heartbroken.
Who honors women and gazes adoringly at dogs, cats, babies and the elderly.
You’re becoming a man I’d be proud to trust a woman to.
A man who’d father with excellence and heart. Who’d show kindness to the most broken, to the least deserving.
You help break the judgment off my heart, my mind, my life.
And I’m learning to trust your process.
To allow you to be a child, while shepherding you into manhood.
I’m learning that though you are bigger than ever, inside you aren’t ready to grow up quite yet.
You’re teaching me, slowly, to listen. To seek to understand.
You are not afraid to rebuke me, to hold my feet to the fire, to tell me when I am dishonest or unkind.
And I am thankful.
Thank you for being a truth teller with the most loving of hearts.
Thank you, Quinn, for being you.
Happy 14th, my son.
I am the luckiest of women, to be your mom.