My son is taller than I am.  His voice is much lower.  His feet are big.  I have to get him to deal with the beginnings of a uni-brow.  He will start shaving soon.

He is growing up.  It is wonderful (I say wistfully) to watch him become independent and, well, transform into a young man.

But, then, he threw me a curve ball.

“I think it is time we box up and give away some of my childhood artifacts.”

He is separating from his childhood, like a baby from the placenta. And by saying “childhood artifacts,” I think he is trying to make it all feel less emotional, less big, less close.

“I think the Magic Blanket and Puppy need to go away.”

In my heart I am crying:  “Oh, no, not Puppy the stuffed dog that kept you company at night? And the Magic Blanket that kept you and Puppy safe?”

As if reading my mind, he says:

“You know Puppy isn’t real and the Magic Blanket doesn’t really keep me safe.”

Oh, but they are and they did, Sweetie.  They made you feel safe and secure at night when you were young and the darkness was scary.

RIP Puppy and the Magic Blanket.