Now he’s 15.

I had a full-blown Mommy cry about it in the car yesterday (and a couple of times since).

Because now there are only three birthdays left.

Three.

Only three more special mornings with doughnuts for breakfast and birthday gifts in bright paper perched on the mantle and our whole family gathered around an ice cream cake singing the Happy Birthday song after dinner.

Three.

That doesn’t seem like enough.

I cannot imagine CALLING him at college to wish him Happy Birthday. Singing the birthday song with the phone pressed to my ear. Asking him how he is spending his day or wondering “Did anyone get you a cake?”

I cannot imagine writing out a birthday card and sending him a gift in the mail to an address different than my own.

Is this really how it all goes down???

I get to spend 18 years with this little love of my life…and then he leaves??

Then he goes to college and starts a career and marries and buys his own home and starts a little family and lives his own life that I get to visit once in a while??

Really???

Because all I can think about is him as a newborn…how I stared with wonder at my very own heart right there in my hands.

Because all I can think about is him as a toddler on wobbly legs…how I counted “fifteen, sixteen, seventeen!!! Yay, seventeen steps!!”

Because all I can think about is him as a two-year-old playing matchbox cars on the floor…how I could never resist his “Momma, pay wiff me.”

Because all I can think about is him as a kindergartener…how I walked him to school and couldn’t stop smiling at that gigantic Star Wars backpack.

Because all I can think about is HIM…and toothless grins and silly fart sounds and Minecraft adventure stories and reptile obsessions and basketball games and that sweet face in the glow of birthday candles year after year after year.

Now he’s getting a learner’s permit…

To DRIVE!!

And I’m over here clutching at time.

Wait.

WAIT!

Just slow down for a minute!

Did we play enough matchbox cars?

Doesn’t he need me to tickle his feet?

When was the last time I held his hand?

Which book was the LAST ONE I ever read aloud to him?

I can’t remember…

I need another little boy story!

I need more of his infectious laughter at inappropriate fart sounds around the dinner table!

I need more “Hey Mom, guess what?”-s.

My beautiful baby boy is growing up healthy and happy and confident and strong…

So, why is my heart aching?

Why is it all so dang HARD???

And why does the continual letting go in life have to feel like such sweet beautiful melancholy???

I need more time.

I need more birthdays.

I’m not ready.

Now there are only three more…