Five is a weird age.
It's seeing a baby one minute, then blinking to find a teenager standing before you.
It's "I love you, Mommy!" in the morning and "You're the meanest mom ever!" in the afternoon.
Five is where we dance between aisles. Now too tall for clothes that end in T, but too skinny for the next size up. We're finding it hard to know our place, lost between worlds, in a way.
It's gangly legs that sit cramped in the back seat. The same ones that hang oddly at my side because, sometimes, he still wants me to carry him.
I'm beginning to realize, five is the stepping stone into the next stage of life. It's going hours without seeing him at school, yet still leaning down for a loving hug when I pick him up.
It's eye rolls and sass sprinkled with a healthy dose of affection.
Independence laced with a need for mom and dad.
Yes, five is a weird age.
But so was four. And three...two...and one.
And I'm learning that every year brings a little something more while also taking a little something away.
This year, I'm saying goodbye to the little boy who made me a mom and getting a glimpse into the world of mothering a kid. Not a baby. Not a toddler.
A full-on kid.
And that is just so...weird.
In the best way possible.
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