Lord Help Us, He’s 14: A Birthday Ode to Carson

Well, y’all, it happened. Carson is officially 14 years old tomorrow, which means he’s exactly 73% sass, 22% hair product, and 5% mystery smells. I blinked, and the tiny little boy who used to run around in superhero underwear is now taller than me, has opinions about fashion, and eats like he’s prepping for a football scholarship.

Raising a teenage boy is not for the weak. This is the age where they start responding to questions with “I dunno,” shrugging so hard their shoulders almost pop out of socket, and smelling suspiciously like a mix of Old Spice and yesterday’s gym class. But somehow, beneath that adolescent chaos, there’s this beautiful thing happening: my boy is growing into a man.

And not just any man. A good one. A kind one. A funny one. A deeply-feeling one.

Carson has been through more in his 14 years than some people face in a lifetime. Losing Nannie rocked our world. That sweet woman was his biggest fan, his safe place, and the source of all his extra dessert privileges. Grief doesn’t take it easy on anyone, least of all a growing kid who just wants his Nannie back. But even in the hardest moments, Carson has shown resilience that I couldn’t be prouder of. His heart is soft, his humor is sharp, and his strength? Whew. Unmatched.

Let’s also not pretend like this birthday isn’t hitting me in the feelings. Fourteen is one step closer to driving, dating, and (gasp) possibly leaving home someday. I swear just yesterday I was cutting the crust off his sandwiches and making up bedtime stories about magical lizards. Now he’s asking for Old Spice and acting like he doesn’t need me to walk beside him in public (rude).

But no matter how cool he gets or how deep his voice drops, he’s still my baby. My boy. My reason for pushing through the hard days. My reminder that love, even after loss, can keep growing.

So here’s to you, Carson–Happy Birthday, my strong, handsome, hilarious, occasionally moody miracle. You’ve got the best parts of your Nannie inside you, and the best years still ahead of you.

And if anyone’s looking for me on Thursday, I’ll be crying into our traditional Mexican dinner and trying to get a selfie with my newly-minted 14-year-old. (He’ll protest, but he’ll secretly love it.)

Happy Birthday, Bub. I love you bigger than the sky.