Ten years, 11 months, 15 days, and 28 minutes. That’s how long my son, Luke, has been part of my life. How is that even possible?
I won’t exaggerate and say it feels like “just yesterday” because, honestly, it doesn’t. It feels like a lifetime. Yet, at the same time, I can’t fathom that I’ve been a mother for over a decade. We’re more than halfway through this magical and fleeting journey called “childhood.”
Recently, I find myself gazing at Luke, longing for the little boy he once was. Where has that child gone? His chubby cheeks have vanished, and his almond-shaped eyes have transformed. Even his long, shaggy hair has been cropped short. I’m acutely aware that as he continues to grow, these changes will only become more pronounced.
Parenting is full of surprises—not only because it’s tougher, richer, and more rewarding than I anticipated—but also because time feels anything but linear. It twists and turns, making it seem like we’ve skipped entire years while some days stretch on forever. The milestones I thought would be significant—like learning to walk, starting kindergarten, and losing that first tooth—have faded into the routine of everyday life.
It’s the spontaneous Tuesday evenings, the midweek car rides, and the kitchen dance-offs that stick with us. Thus, 10 years, 11 months, 15 days, and 28 minutes feels like a monumental occasion.
When Luke turned 10—welcome to double digits!—we celebrated with the usual enthusiasm but little sentimentality. A small gathering with friends, singing “Happy Birthday” multiple times, yet there were no tears, no parental worries about the rapid passage of time.
Now, at 10 years, 11 months, 15 days, and 28 minutes, I can’t help but ask myself: Is this the pinnacle of childhood? Or worse, does this mark the beginning of its end? These feelings are heavy.
I’m not one to dwell on the baby years or rush ahead to what’s next. I genuinely believe that the best phase is always the one we’re currently experiencing—be it infancy, toddlerhood, or this so-called “golden age.” Even challenging three-year-olds hold a special place in my heart; I don’t subscribe to the idea that “little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems.” Every stage has its own trials and joys. I know I will love and detest the teenage years, just as I did with the newborn phase.
But… Ten. TEN. Ten years, 11 months, 15 days, and 28 minutes to be precise.
Sigh… This feels like a pivotal moment. It’s as if I blink and suddenly childhood will be a colorful memory in the rearview mirror instead of a misty drive we’re navigating. Ten marks a balance between childhood and the cautious steps toward adolescence and eventual adulthood.
Ten is about sports, video games, and sketching animals. It’s baseball gear and the thrill of making a catch in the outfield, followed by tears after another strikeout. Ten brings slammed doors accompanied by tearful reconciliations. It’s deep conversations about God, sexuality, and the struggles of homelessness, coupled with a desire to understand the world and form individual opinions. Ten is also knowing when to say, “Enough talking for now.”
At this age, Luke enjoys watching movies like Moana and Star Wars, singing along to bands like The XX and Imagine Dragons—though he often gets the lyrics wrong. Ten is peppered with occasional swearing and silly jokes. It’s the realization of sarcasm and the noise and chaos that come with it, yet there’s a sweetness too—handmade Mother’s Day cards and comforting a friend in tears.
At ten, he still snuggles beside me in the morning, but instead of cartoons, it’s SportsCenter on the TV. It’s smelly t-shirts and reminders to shower. It’s leaning in for hugs in public, yet refusing to hold hands. It’s savoring long bedtime hugs some nights and quick waves on others.
Ten means spending short moments home alone, walking to the store for candy, and sometimes forgetting homework but remembering to study for spelling tests. It’s rolling eyes at romantic scenes in action films, wanting to watch horror movies but covering his eyes during the scariest parts. His feet grow two sizes in a matter of months, and his forehead now rests comfortably against my shoulder.
Ten is both little and big. And yes, ten is the best age of childhood.
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Summary
This reflective piece explores the bittersweet transition of a mother observing her son turn ten. It captures the essence of childhood, highlighting the joys and challenges of parenting while pondering the fleeting nature of time. The author expresses a mix of nostalgia and acceptance as her son grows, recognizing that each phase of childhood has its unique beauty and struggles.