My baby boy ...

So, okay, he's hardly a baby anymore.

Matter of fact, he'll turn 10 years old at 10:22 p.m. Friday.

Can I seriously be the mother of a 10-year-old? It doesn't seem possible, not if you think that I was, in fact, 10-years-old when we moved to Indiana. Wasn't that yesterday? I remember how silly I was, and how I never quite fit into that body God gave me. I was goofy, with bucked teeth, wondering how in the world I would ever tame that frizzy curly hair.

Now, I will have a 10-year-old. It's been an entire decade since I laid in pain, wishing beyond words that the baby I harbored for nine months would soon make an appearance. I remember the pain, and then the heart ache when I almost lost him. I remember holding his tiny shaved head in the crook of my arms in the intensive care unit. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to pump, knowing that one day my son would need that nourishment.

Now, he's almost 10. He no longer requires breast milk. Sometimes, I still wake up in the middle of the night to check on him, but mostly, he snores away in the tiny twin bed I would've never thought he would fill up.

I like 10-year-olds. I am learning that. I like having conversations and quiet times. I like it when he gets frustrated at me because my mind wanders. I love it when he tells me I am the best mom in the world just because I bought his favorite flavor of Gatorade.

So maybe he's no longer 6 pounds, 11 ounces.

So maybe he pretty much eats me out of house and home.

So maybe he no longer requires me to survive.

But, then again, perhaps he does. Matter of fact, I know he does, even if he doesn't know it.

When I picked him up this summer after a week at church camp, he hugged me like never before. He told me over and over again just how much he loved me and missed me. Things have been different since. I feel more appreciated, more respected. But, then again, maybe that's all a part of that 10-year-old thing.

He's growing older, as am I. He's growing wiser, as am I. I no longer have to nurse him back to sleep in the middle of the night, but I sure don't mind holding him tight in my arms. I never thought he'd one day turn 10-years-old, but it hasn't been anything but wonderful.

Thank God I am the mother of a 10-year-old. Thank God for that 10-year-old.

After all, he's the one who made me a mother.