Well, the day has come.
I honestly can't believe it did.
I thought I had more time.
My son, Jonathan, who we've affectionately nicknamed "Jack," now wants to be called "Jon." And he's breaking his mama's heart!
Jonathan is my firstborn. Except I've never had to tell him that. He proclaims himself to be the leader and Ben gladly follows. The other day, he told me that he was the boss. Surprised, I asked him to repeat himself. Then seeing my smile and raised eyebrows, he added, "I am the boss when I am a daddy."
He's three, folks.
We knew that he was serious about his name-change when his Sunday school materials came back today with his new desired name written on the back. I almost cried.
My little brother was fifteen when he decided to make the switch from Daniel to Dan. I remember being sad, hoping he'd change his mind and not sure if it would ever feel right. Eight years later, though, and it feels just fine.
My smart, inquisitive, determined and "I want to do it the right way, Mom" firstborn is making his own way. In a very three-year-old sense, he is asserting his independence. He wants to be called Jon and so I will try my hardest to accomodate (even though I will secretly be praying that he does change his mind!)
In the meantime, this is my son, Jon:
No matter what I call him, he will always be mine.