43 days...

sounds like a lot. It feels like more.

I can't decide if it is better or worse to count down the days. I always do.

Now it's a ritual of sorts, crossing off the days with my son but some nights I wish we didn't.

Because some days he is strong and some days he just misses his Daddy.

I can't down play it either because I don't want to make him feel like he shouldn't get sad, I don't want one of those men... I say "men" because that is what I'm doing, I am raising a man. He might be little but that won't always be the case. It's practically not the case now. The kid is to my chin and at 5'7" I'm not exactly short.

We were having a talk the other day about him turning 10. I said "no more single digits" and he said "yay!" then he was quiet. I think at that moment he realized that he will not be a kid forever and I was so sad to witness but am so glad I didn't miss it. The time goes so fast, I beat myself up if I miss anything. 

It was in that moment of seeing my baby, my first born realize that he too was growing up that I decided to stop with the bullshit, all of it. Every bit of bullshit I trek through, I am going to start letting it go because it just doesn't matter. I want to make sure that I am showing him how to enjoy life and I myself want to slow down and start enjoying every bit because I too will not be a kid forever...