SOPHOMORE

I knew this time was coming.

There was no denying it, no procrastinating, no putting if off.

All summer I've been witness to the transformation.  It's hard to ignore when the grocery bill totals more than ever before and the shoes are outgrown at am alarming rate. Some days I'm better at noticing than others, especially on those days when I'm snapped up in a hug by strong arms that I hardly recognize, a face that grows whiskers, a voice I hardly know.

My son.

My firstborn.

He isn't so little anymore.

Last week he got his schedule for his 10th grade year.  He's attending the same high school that my husband and I graduated from.  I see the similarities but it still seems to shock me when things come full circle like they do.  Looking over his classes, I noticed a familiar name on the list, "A. Waite."

"Hmmmmm," I said out loud.

Really???

When I was in 10th grade, my (now) husband asked me out for the first time.  We were in French class. He did it in front of the entire class.  I said NO!

I know, I know, I know...

Suffice it to say, our first date didn't happen for a few more months, the summer between 10th and 11th grade for me.

Guess who the teacher was?

A. Waite.

Yup.

This is the part where my brain scrambles.  How can it be?  How in the world can we have a kid as old as we were when we started "dating?"  OMG.   No.  No way.  There better not be any girls in that class!  (NOT GOING TO HAPPEN, I KNOW, BUT A MOTHER CAN DREAM)  I know he keeps telling me that he can get his learners permit TO DRIVE, but I keep laughing and saying he doesn't need it yet.  Besides, he's too busy with football and school to be learning how to drive.

OMG.

It's inevitable.

It's here.

It's now.

I'm not young anymore.

SOB.