Getting Serious About Growing Old

The Little Man is killing me with all the growing up he's doing.   First, a birthday this summer, and then this nonsense:

Two more teeth, gone.  Forever.  Well, kind of.  They will be replaced, but with huge (probably crooked) adult teeth.

I go between emotions of sadness that my sweet, cute, baby boy smile is gone, to a new found love for this toothless grin.  Too bad the new teeth have already broke the surface.  I suppose I will love them too, though.

Today when he and The Hubs were talking about climbing mountains (The Hubs' current obsession), he asked when The Hubs when he was going to get to join him in climbing.  Thankfully, The Hubs didn't promise him this summer, but instead told him when he was about ten. 

Anytime we talk about future events in which a specific age is attached, I kind of hyperventilate a bit.  I mean, I know he's going to be 10 one day, but I can't fathom it.  And, quite frankly, I don't want to think about it.  Not even for a second. 

I quickly told him he was never going to turn 10 because I decided he needed to stay six forever.

Which he did not respond kindly to.

With a growl-y frown upon his toothless face he told me, "I WILL be 10 one day.  I won't stay six forever.  In fact, on December 12th, I WILL turn six and a half, and THAT'S FINAL!"  He stomped down his foot, turned on his heal, and left the room.

Note to self:  Don't joke about not letting the boy grow up.  He doesn't think it's funny.