The End of Hugs

I just finished reading an anthology about raising sons, and concluded two things:
1. I do not share the fear that many women have regarding boy things like trucks and dirt.
2. Some day Milo will grow out of his hugging phase, stop thinking that I can fix everything, start shaving and leave home and never call.

While I was a girl myself (yes, really!) I wasn't a superstar at being a girl. I had girl toys like dolls and Barbies, but I also had a brother, which meant that I could play with matchbox cars and Star Wars figurines too. And frequently, I was silently happy about having said brother because it meant I got to play with boy stuff, no questions asked. When we found out Milo would be a boy, I felt that little happy feeling again -- I would, once again, get a Play With Boy Stuff Free card. And it would be easy and familiar. Girl stuff I wasn't sure I'd done properly, but boy stuff I could do with my eyes shut.

A few months ago my mother sent Milo a little play kitchen, which came with a set of dishes and plastic silverware. As Steven and I were unpacking the little dishes and putting them in the play cabinets, I kep holding up dishes and saying "What's this one?"
"A pot," Steven would reply.
"What's this?" I asked, holding up a grey object. "A cup?"
"It's a saltshaker," said Steven. "Weren't you EVER a girl?"
"Yes, but I was bad at it," I said.

All of which is to say, I had no fear regarding the coming years of rough and tumble play involving dolls hitting each other, or whatever this particular boy would choose to do. And, until I read the aforementioned anthology, it had not crossed my mind to worry about point #2.

But now I can't get it out of my head. Sure, we'll be able to sleep in again on weekends and go out to the movies, but there will no longer be a little person around for whom I am his everything. When Milo hurts himself he'll no longer make a beeline for my arms, yelling "HUG! HUG!" We've still got many years of Mama's hugs fixing everything, I'm sure, but it's a finite amount. Every day we are one day closer to the end of hugs.