He's growing up. And I am not handling it super well.
Ok, so he's only nine, but he might as well be 19 for all the huffs and closed doors and big hazel eyes dodging mine. When I sit next to him and explain the hows and whys of discipline - how it's all wrapped up in love, how our hopes for him rely on a few boundaries - his long fingers play with fraying jeans.
Do you understand? Would you like to say something?
Silence.
I know this is how it goes, and I remember what they said. When your baby speaks only in howling cries and you don't know if he needs food or nappy or a change in scenery, they tell you it will get better. And harder. How the days and years fly by. How one day you'll have actual conversations. How they might even break your heart.
But he's nine, and it's too early for fighting.
How do you grow with your kids? Are you all mess and tears, like I am?
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