Halfway to Grown: The Year My Baby Turned Ten

There’s something about your kid turning ten that just hits your heart differently. It’s not the same as five, when you still had glue in your hair and could bribe them with fruit snacks to take a nap. It’s not like the first day of kindergarten, when you ugly cried in the car line but pretended it was “allergies”. Ten is a whole new level of “wait, how did we get here and who approved this timeline?”

Ten is double digits, or as my son says, “two whole hands”. It’s officially “halfway to grown,” which is both heartwarming and mildly horrifying. Because let’s be honest – the last ten years have felt like both a blink and a lifetime. Somewhere between diapers and baseball practice, tantrums and TikTok references, I blinked and ended up raising a five-foot-tall mini-human who eats like a linebacker and has more confidence today than I did at thirty. The little boy who once clung to my leg now opens doors for me and looks like he should already be driving himself to school.

In the classroom, he’s thriving – funny, kind, and sometimes a little too smart for his own good. At home, he’s a mix of sass, sweetness, and snack wrappers left exactly two inches from the trash can. On the baseball field, he’s grown into a leader – focused, fierce, and unrecognizably big. The “little boy” has quietly disappeared, and somehow, we’ve found ourselves now in tween boy territory… where deodorant and attitude coexist and the mom vs son eye-roll competition is heating up.

The truth is, he didn’t get the best version of me for a long time. Between the anxiety, the arguments at home, the divorce, and the quiet chaos of trying to build a new life from the ground up – I wasn’t my best me. I failed him often. I yelled more than I wanted to. I cried in the bathroom, in the car, and in the closet… a lot. And there were days that I wanted to give up entirely, but I didn’t – because he was watching. We had to grow up together. He learned patience before most adults do, and I learned what grace really means. He deserved better, but somehow, through all of it, he still saw the best in me even when I couldn’t see it myself.

When he was born, I had no idea what I was doing and I remember telling my nurse, “How do I know what to do when we get home?” Back then, I thought the hard part was the sleepless nights, the endless diapers, and trying to keep this tiny human alive while running on caffeine and questionable life choices. But the hard parts evolve. Its no longer about keeping him alive – it’s about keeping him kind in a world that constantly tries to take that away. It’s teaching him to have a voice (something him and I have never had a problem with), but to use it with compassion and confidence, and to understand that his tired mama is doing her absolute best, even when she’s just one sarcastic comment away from losing her whole mind.

In ten years, we’ve grown up together.

I’ve learned how to be the mom, the provider, the chauffeur, the cheering section, the counselor, and the one who remembers the last minute spirit days when he forgets. I’ve learned that sometimes “good enough” IS enough, and that pizza rolls totally count  as a balanced dinner when you add fruit on the side. I’ve learned that success looks less like titles and more like the quiet moments where he still wants to snuggle before bed.

He's learned that I’m not an invincible superhero – but I am his biggest fan and always in his corner. He’s learned that “no” usually means “because I don’t have a money tree in the back yard.” And he’s learned that mom always shows up, even when she’s exhausted, and that’s the kind of consistent love that can’t be bought.

Now, as we head towards puberty,  middle school, and high school and girls, I’m bracing myself for the next chapter. There will be attitude. There will be more eye rolls. There will be moments that test every ounce of my patience and other moments that remind me why its all worth it. Because this? This is the good stuff. The messy, hilarious, heart-expanding middle of the story where we’re both figuring out who we’re becoming.

So here’s to TEN.

To the decade that broke me open and rebuilt me stronger. To the boy who made me softer and tougher at the same time. And to the tired, sarcastic, proud me who will still be doing it – one car line, one coffee, and one deep breath at a time.

If motherhood taught me anything, its that time doesn’t ask for permission. One day you’re cutting grapes in half so he doesn’t choke, and the next you’re buying deodorant and pretending not to cry at the baseball field. Here’s to every time we’ve had to hold it together with caffeine, humor and sheer determination – even when we’ve had to rebuild ourselves along the way.

Cheers to TEN!