Growing up...

When my husband and I got engaged one of the biggest question marks left in my mind was his son. Andrei was not even a year old at that time, and the idea of being a step-mom at 21 years old was both intriguing and terrifying to me. I've always known that it would be difficult to impossible for me to have my own children, so I was encouraged by the fact that some of the pressure to carry on the family name would be taken off my shoulders. I was also terrified by the challenges I knew we would face. The challenge of dealing with the child's mother who has a rocky relationship with my husband; the challenge of handling a child who was born into such a difficult situation (his parents have never been "together" in his entire lifetime); the challenge of navigating a relationship with my husband with a child already in the mix; the challenge of bonding with the boy himself and creating a parent-child relationship; the financial challenges of having to fork over $350/month in child support to a woman who spent that money getting her hair done and buying new clothes while I was forced to wear holes in my jeans and give up most of my single-gal beauty routines...

It hasn't been easy to say the least. There have been really bad times and kind of bad times, but there weren't very many good times until just a couple of years ago. In fact, it wasn't until just recently the good times have started to outnumber the bad times. Today as he and I were climbing "Y" mountain and enjoying a pleasant one-on-one conversation about the things that are important to an 8 year-old boy, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for this journey that he and I have been on. Somehow over the past 7 and a half years this child has become the light of my life. I honestly did not see that coming.

When he made the transition from infant to toddler I was worried that I was going to miss having the baby around. I waited and waited for the sense of loss and the baby hunger to kick in, but somehow that never happened. The older this boy gets, the more delightful he is to be with and I have never at any point felt a sense of loss for the infant that he was. I guess that's because when we started out, I did not know  that the sweet little baby I was carrying around in my arms would one day be my friend. That's something that the parenting books don't really prepare you for. Go fig. 

Today while I was picking up laundry from his room I noticed the distinct aroma of "Sweaty Boy." I am pretty sure this means we have officially made the transition from "Little Kid" to "Big Kid." In just a few more years we'll be watching him, God willing, make the transition to teenager. Is it weird that I am looking forward to that? I guess I just figure the best is yet to come.