Today I became the mother of a teenager.

Even though I am a teacher to dozens of teenagers every year (or maybe because I am), I’ve looked to this day with some trepidation. I’d watch these kids feeling suddenly self-conscious about everything, blushing and awkward and growing taller than I am.

I know logically that today is no different than yesterday, but yet thirteen has hit me the hardest of any birthday so far. My son is undeniably growing up now.

The past few years felt like a comfortable holding pattern, with my kids somewhat capable and independent, but still very much little boys.

My son is easygoing and kindhearted and reliable. Sometimes he’s the one comforting me. When he saw me getting teary-eyed at his birthday dinner, he picked up a few crayons and started coloring as if to show me he’s still a kid.

Every morning when I open my classroom door, I see that the stalk of this amaryllis bulb has grown a little taller, and today, the red flower is about to open. How fitting to watch this flower blooming on the same day I am thinking of my son and his full potential about to burst forth.