Dear Joey,

I posted about your sister recently - it was mostly to show off her new glasses and lovely smile, but it was also because I’ve learned some things about her lately, and I wanted to put them in writing. I have learned a lot about you too this past year, and you deserve for me to write those things down as well, so here I go.

When I mulled over what to write in this post about you, it seemed natural to write it TO you instead of just ABOUT you. Because you’re personal like that - everything that happens around you touches you in some way, even if you weren’t really involved.

That’s one of the biggest things I have learned about you, and one of the biggest reasons you tend to get into trouble. You’re easily offended, and easily hurt, because jokes aren’t just jokes, and feelings are fragile right now. I’m sure it’s partly your age, but here is where we are the same, my boy: I still to this day have to remind myself that it’s not about me. I still have days where something is said, whether in passing or more directly, and I struggle not to cry or be angry. Our deep care for everything that happens is also our weakness. I hope that I can give you an example of how to grow a thicker skin without hiding your heart away, because that softness is a good thing when it’s done right.

You’ll still hurt more than some other people, though, and I’m sorry for that - but if you don’t learn these things like I had to learn them, you won’t be as strong as I know you can be. I always say to you that pain is the best teacher, and I always mean it. One day, you might repeat that to someone else, and then you will truly know deep down that it is so.

You are the child that makes me work harder than I ever have to make sure I am the best mother I can possibly be. You are the one that I cry about, the one I tear out my hair over, and the one that I always fear I might screw up. I don’t know why I’m so afraid that you’re fragile, because you are obviously so resilient. Your kindness and sincerity touch my heart, and your uncanny ability to hear what I’m thinking still catches me off guard.

You are the child who brings me a handful of tissue, even though I was crying as quietly as I could, and was several rooms away. You always give hugs, even when they’re awkward because nobody was expecting them. You always try new things, and you compliment every meal I’ve ever made.

You hate being alone but sometimes you need to be. You have trouble calming down when you’re angry, because you don’t want to have to release all that energy and emotion and feeling - but little by little, you’re learning how to just BE, to find the peace that’s inside you. Again, I know I don’t always give you the best example of how to be calm, but I’ll be working on that for the rest of my life too.

You are my son, my first boy, and I want so much for you to grow into a good man. But I think that the best thing I’ve learned from you lately is that before you can be any kind of grownup, you have to be a kid first. You’re teaching me that running around screeching is normal for a boy, and that green stains on pants and cuts on hands are part of the package. I’m learning to let go more and be silly more, and I have you to thank for it. Just like I had you to thank for all the face-smacks when you were eighteen months old and sitting on my lap, head-butting me because you wanted to scoot closer.

The closer I get to you, the more I see how deep your soul is. I’m honored to be your mom.