Ten years, 11 months, 15 days, and 28 minutes. That’s how long my son has been on this planet, and honestly, it feels surreal. It’s hard to believe that I’ve navigated motherhood for over a decade. Each moment has been a blend of joy and challenge, and I often find myself reminiscing about the little boy he once was. Where did that child go? His cherubic cheeks have faded, his wide-eyed innocence transformed into a more mature gaze. Even his long hair has been replaced with a neat haircut. I can’t help but notice that he’s morphing into a new version of himself, and the pace of change is only going to quicken from here on out.
Parenting is full of surprises—not only because it’s tougher and richer than I ever imagined—but also because time has a way of playing tricks on you. Some days stretch on endlessly, while others disappear in an instant. The major milestones, like taking those first steps or starting school, seem to fade into the background noise of daily life. Instead, it’s those spontaneous Tuesday nights, the shared car rides, and impromptu kitchen dance parties that become the cherished memories.
When my son turned 10, we celebrated with the usual enthusiasm, but I felt a strange detachment. We had a small gathering with close friends, singing “Happy Birthday” multiple times, yet there were no tears or deep reflections about the swiftness of time. Now, at 10 years, 11 months, 15 days, and 28 minutes, I’m grappling with some heavy emotions. Is this the pinnacle of childhood? Or worse, is it the start of its decline?
I’m not one to yearn for the baby days or rush into what’s next. Each phase—whether it’s infancy, toddlerhood, or this current “sweet spot”—holds its own unique beauty. Even the challenging “threeager” phase has its charms. I know I will love and loathe the teenage years just as I did the newborn stage.
But let’s talk about ten. Ten years, 11 months, 15 days, and 28 minutes—exactly. This feels like a significant turning point. I sense that if I blink, childhood will be nothing more than a colorful blur in my rearview mirror. At ten, one foot is still planted firmly in childhood while the other is inching toward adolescence and, eventually, adulthood.
Ten is filled with sports, video games, and drawing animal pictures. It’s about baseball cleats, diving catches, and the tears that follow striking out. It’s the tumult of slammed doors followed by tearful reconciliations, deep conversations about big topics like God and social issues, and wanting to know the answers. Ten is a mix of innocence and growing independence. It’s snuggles in the morning, but instead of cartoons, SportsCenter is on.
Ten is also about those pungent T-shirts and the constant reminders to shower. It’s leaning in for hugs in public but shying away from holding hands. It’s staying home alone for short spells and making quick trips to the store for candy, bringing some back for me. Ten is the eye rolls at romantic scenes in movies, wanting to watch scary flicks but often covering eyes. It’s feet that grow at an alarming rate and a head that fits perfectly in the crook of my neck.
Ten is a paradox—both little and big. And yes, ten is undoubtedly the last best age of childhood.
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Summary
As my son approaches the end of his tenth year, I find myself reflecting on the bittersweet nature of childhood. Each phase has its challenges and joys, but ten feels uniquely significant—a bridge between childhood and adolescence.
Keyphrase: Age 10 and childhood reflections
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