He said the words I've been dreading for many years. He said them in the car on the way home from school. And he said it with no doubt in his voice. No doubt at all.
"Mama... I know. You don't have to pretend any more."
But I want to pretend. I want him to believe in magic, in Santa, in flying reindeer that never grow weary, in an bottomless bag of toys.
I still want to believe. So I definitely want him to believe.
The years, they are flying as fast as Santa's sleigh on a cold winter's eve. I can't slow them down or bottle them to open at a later date and re-enjoy. So strange the beginning years of my son's life I wished away... and now I find myself clinging to time.
The day is coming soon that I won't need to hide gifts or have things shipped to another address. The innocence of childhood fleeting and the magic of the little paper flakes we sprinkle on our elves at night is fading. Christmas will take new shape and meaning and fit into a much smaller box sooner than I want to admit.
I already miss it.