A Quarter of a Inch



We finally reached a milestone in our house that is inevitable for almost all mothers of boys … my baby is taller than me. By just barely a quarter of an inch. On his 12th birthday, he stood back to back with me and a jury of our family confirmed what we already knew; it wasn't just because of his shoes or standing on weird flooring. He was genuinely and legitimately taller than me. 

At 5' 5-1/2", it was only a matter of time before a son would stand taller than me. The other two are sure to follow suit. If the pediatrician is right, he should reach well over 6', at that point, eclipsing even his own dad in height. 

As I type this, he is outside painting the exterior of our home with his dad and brother, a home we may not be in for too much longer. It's funny to think how he's grown every quarter of an inch in this home, and he'll finish his growing in another house. The kitchen island that he used to toddle under as a baby now hits him at belly button height, and with little effort, he can jump up and touch our ceilings. A small part of me was hoping to see his brothers reach those height milestones in this house as well, but there will be other markers of time and growth to look forward to, even if it's in another location. 

Everyone in our house is growing a little bit every day, and the walls are pressing in on us further. More space is a must, even if leaving our home is bittersweet and the process of moving, buying a new home and selling this one occupies all of my time and energy. Maybe in our new home I'll be able to carve out a little place to mark everyone's height like they do in the movies. Either way, he'll have more space to stretch out all of those extra inches, and keep on growing a little more comfortably. Just, not too fast I hope. 


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