Jonah is eight

Jonah yesterday morning, after climbing into bed with me: “If I had never been born I would never be eight!”

Jonah is eight. More than with seven, I am going a little crazy with the idea. Eight means ten is coming. Something about fifth grade induces a shift in me, due to my own difficult fifth grade year and how, in a way, my childhood ended then because of that intense difficulty.

“Do I look different?” he asked, snuggling in closer. Funny thing is, he did. Just a bit. I told him so.

For weeks, J has been waxing philosophical. It started with a little bit of fear—of change, of growing up: “I want my childhood! I want to keep it forever!” But in recent days, he’s transitioned to: “I’m happy for my childhood, even if I’m sad to leave it.”

And yes, I assured him his childhood is Not over. I didn’t go so far to say that he might be one of the lucky ones whose childhood is extended rather than shortened because of his nature, but I believe it is so. And yes, his words ring with more than just a little bit of his father’s vernacular, the youngest looking 40+ person I know. But Jonah still means them for himself. Where would we be without other people’s words helping us find our own?

Jonah is eight.

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