Last Friday night, I hosted a dozen-ish girls in an overnight sleepover. Now, granted, these were all approximately 7-year-old girls, and two of them were my own children, so I should have been prepared for the long, sugar-high-induced excitement, the thrill of the ‘first sleepover’ and the super early morning the next day.

Actually, I was, but man, when you’re in the midst of the moment, it all gets overwhelming. Now, this is actually not the point of this post, it’s just the prologue.

So, picture this. ten-ish, seven year olds, all who’re about four to four-and-a-half feet tall. Against me, that’s right around my chest level (I’m 5’6″). To my husband, who’s taller than me, that’s a little lower. Now, what does having ten of them around do?

It changes your perspective. I spent 3 hours looking down. Down to answer questions. Down to pass a plate. Down to give a hug. Kneeling to talk face to face. Getting low to communicate, low to play on the floor … just way closer to the ground.

And then what happened?

The monsters walked in. Now, when I say monsters, I actually mean, my son and his friend. 10x looking down, 2x looking up. Up and up. Higher and higher, still. Hugeness overwhelmed me and the 10 little girls bouncing around my living room.

These two walked in with a stride. Broad shoulders. Height. Hulking. Low voices. Dark eyes. A quest for pizza and food and a departure just as quick.

They were the exact opposite of the daintiness I’d stared at for 3 hours.

The mom in me said, “Oh my god, how did my son get so big?”
The artist in me said, “I’m going to have to get a wider lens.” (I was photographing the present opening at that time).
The writer in me said, “This is the picture of what we writers describe when we describe the ‘hot guy’ who walked into the scene ready to take charge.” Something like this:

He filled the frame of the door, his shoulders reaching from one side to the other, a male form, dominating the lit space, a silhouette of muscle every woman in the room turned to see. And he knew it.

The worst part about this is that that describes my son. My almost 14 year old who’s nearly 6 feet tall. Who’s built like a tank and lost all his ‘baby fat’ when stretching from his 5’4″ body less than 6 months ago to what he is now.

I’ve known it was coming, but I didn’t see that it had already really happened. He was just one of the family, and his height and build only really mattered to him. He didn’t stand out among the ‘crowd’ … until that moment.

Yes, in fact, my own son fits the image of some romance novel covers, the description of some of the men in the stories I write and read.

I’m just really hoping that right now, he doesn’t see (or know) that himself. 😉

As a parent, what lightbulb lit at a most in opportune time for you?