Walking the Tightrope
Words of love for my youngest
You’re changing.
Not like you always do.
This time, it’s different.
You’re transforming before my eyes.
You’re the first to wake up.
This is not new.
You crawl into bed.
Your dad snuggles you.
I meet you two downstairs.
You rush to me.
It once was a given.
Now, I’m not often the lucky one.
It’s time to go.
You choose a Big Bird shirt.
I smile, knowing its days are numbered.
I help you strap your light-up shoes.
You strap your own carseat.
Then, the questions start.
“Why does sissy get to go to a friend’s house?”
You tell me it’s unfair.
Not long ago, your feelings were unexplained.
Your frustrations were simply fits.
Now, you tell me.
“I’m a big boy. I should have fun too!”
You’re right.
We decide on the park.
Just you and me.
It’s not a friend’s house, but it’s enough.
You ask for your swing to be pushed.
Even though you know how.
The tightrope is daunting.
But you master it soon.
You want to ride the big slide.
But you’re cautious.
“Mommy, come with me?”
I’m not sure I’ll fit.
Older kids are playing.
You watch them closely.
Hoping for an invitation.
But it never comes.
We play hide and seek.
You choose the same spot each time.
The top of the big slide.
The one you needed me for moments ago.
It’s time to go home.
You still don’t understand.
“Why can’t I go” to the neighbor boy’s house?
It doesn’t work that way.
We play outside.
The boy comes looking for your sister.
She’s not home.
But you are.
He asks if you can play, and your face lights up.
“Sure, but stay outside.”
“How about my backyard?” the boy asks.
“Ok,” I say with hesitation.
I watch you run away alone.
Sissy isn’t here to protect you.
I tear up as I hear your laughs from across the street.
I check in more than I should admit.
Now, it’s time to race your bikes.
Three of you line up at the mailbox.
Yours is the sole one with training wheels.
More laughter for you. More tears for me.
You come home.
“Mommy, I need to tell you something.”
I ache, “What is it?”
“I spilled my Gatorade. We need to clean it.”
We walk over, hand in hand.
We clean the porch spill.
I’m proud of you.
The boy’s mom is, too.
You ask me to intervene.
The boys are playing basketball.
But you can’t reach the hoop.
Your own small hoop will not suffice.
It’s time to come home.
I know it’s only a matter of time.
Soon, Big Bird will be a memory.
And you’ll fly on your own.
You eat half your dinner and crawl into my lap.
Your finger slides into your mouth, your head buries in my chest.
I sing you a song, and we snuggle together.
Please, I pray, don’t let this be the last one.
❤️ If you enjoyed this post, please click the like button at the bottom - it helps others discover our stuff!
🗣️ Maybe leave us a cawwwwment below!
🫶🏼 Share this post with someone who needs it.
👚 Get yourself some KNOCK IT OFF merch.
☕️ Buy us a coffee. Kara may or may not blow it at Starbucks.
📸 Follow us on Instagram @knockitoff.substack for even more KNOCK IT OFF content!
📰 This week’s highlight from the archives.
**Our posts may contain affiliate links, meaning we get a small percentage of the amount purchased through a link at no additional cost to you.**
This one. 🥹
beautifully written piece, very happy that I read it on the way home instead of into work since the tears were jerked