As I crawled into bed beside Oliver tonight to say goodnight, I said, "it's your last night of being five."
He responded, "Mom, I'm really going to miss five."
"What do you think you'll miss about five, Oliver?"
"Well, I probably won't be able to pretend I'm a kitty for Abi if I'm six." (Abi consistently likes Oliver when he pretends to be a cat. Otherwise, she and he can be like oil and water.)
"Oh, buddy, six year olds can definitely play pretend."
"How do you know mom?"
"Well, uncle Andy used to be the cat or dog every time Jeanie and I wanted to play house. We would ask him to be the daddy, but he would only agree to be our pet... and he must have been eight or even nine." He smiled at the thought of this. I asked him, "What do you think you'll like about being six?"
He just said, "I don't even know six mom."
I smiled at him and asked, "Do you know who is gonna love you no matter what age you are?"
His worry left his face as he smiled and said, "You."
And I just wanted to freeze the moment. I could see him as the baby he was. I could see that little toddler he was with that curly blond hair that I let grow too long because it was so cute. And I could almost see the man he might become, but more than anything, I found myself clinging to the boy that he is...thankful that God has given him to me and allowed me to be his mom.