“I’m not little, I’m medium!”
with feet planted, you declare
to those at the playground who would
exclude the ‘little brother.’
Big squeezes, kisses rain upon your
cheeks, rosy from outside play.
Big squeeze, big squeeze, then:
“Daddy, that’s too hard! I’m medium.”
Dogs on leashes, small dogs –
these don’t frighten the medium boy.
But big dogs or no leash and
these make panic rise,
“Just ‘cuz…I’m medium.”
You want to stay up later, or run as fast
to write all the alphabet, to read whole
words, to climb to the v-e-r-y top.
“Mommy, when will I be big?”
I wrote this poem about my son in 2012, when he was 5.
This post is also part of the series February Beautiful.
"That got me thinking..." 