I read this article on Scary Mommy a few weeks ago and it had me completely bawling. Nolan is already past many of these stages she describes, or at least on the downward slope, and it makes me so sad. But I guess at the same time, it's exciting to see the little boy he's becoming. Parenting is definitely bittersweet. Mostly sweet though, I would say ☺ Thank heavens I have Branson to smother all over again!
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We’re in it now, this
space between baby and boy.
We’re teetering,
delicately and precariously, a roller coaster in its graceful pause just before
the plunge. It was a little rickety at first, climbing that steep, steep slope:
sleepless nights, endless spit-up, needless crying. I felt each
click-click-click of the ascent. But for now, we are floating here, balancing
above the next phase of your life.
With your sister, I
didn’t realize it was coming. I just woke up one morning, and she was a little
girl. Somehow, in one dreamless night, her ringlets grew out, her face changed,
her speech solidified. I didn’t know there was a space between until it was
gone.
But with you, I
recognize the signs. I feel fortunate that I can see it this time around,
grateful for the opportunity to soak in every last minute of your babyhood.
In a little while,
everyone will be able to decipher your sentences. You will learn to speak in a
way that even strangers can comprehend. You are already saying so much, but it
is a language just for Mama, things only I know, words only I can understand. I
am your translator. I get to tell the world what you mean.
I love how you need
me for that.
Soon, you’ll have
opinions about your food, your friends, your clothes. You might have favorite
shirts, or prefer shorts to pants, or reject every outfit I choose just because
you can. But this morning, I snapped closed your onesie, and you giggled at the
sound. I zipped up your fleece. I had to put on your socks.
I love how you need
me for that.
Any minute now, your
precious drunken stagger will, almost mid-stride, turn into a run. You will
learn to jump — really jump, like you pretend to when you bend your round
little knees over and over, your face beaming with pride. One day your feet
will leave the floor, and those baby knee-bends will be gone. You will throw
farther. You will climb higher. But right now, I carry you when you stumble. I
lift you onto the swings. I walk beside you on the stairs.
I love how you need
me for that.
You are still utterly
unselfconscious, still blissful in your you-ness. You still share, immediately
and generously, everything: toys, snacks, kisses. You are unburdened by the
weight of your surroundings, and in this brief period of life when you have
known no unkindness, you are still pure and earnest and good. No one has teased
you on the playground. No one has ever hurt your feelings. You are still so
innocent and unbruised.
But tomorrow, your
hair might smell of boy instead of baby, that sweet scent replaced by something
unfamiliar. You might wake up and hand me your security blanket and never ask
for it again. And all the folds on those impossibly scrumptious baby thighs
will melt away into our past.
How can I preserve
those cheeks before a tiny jawline peeks through? How can I bottle that belly
laugh? How can I keep those chubby little feet?
In this in-between,
you are a heartbreaking blend of attempted independence and desperate reliance.
You still hold my hand, happily and willingly, and you are not the only one who
is scared to let go.
Today we went to a
parent/toddler class. We took a spot in the back because you seemed wary of so
much singing and dancing and clapping. At first, you just stared at all the
babies, realizing, perhaps for the first time, that there was a world outside
of Mama. You slid off my lap and stepped cautiously toward the music. But
halfway to the front, you sensed an absence, and you turned, searching for my
face, just to make sure I was still there.
I was. I am. I will
be.
So while we rest here
in this space between, let me test your restraints one last time before we
careen downhill. Let me just make sure you’re safe. I love how you need me for
that.
And you can let me
know if I am holding on too hard, baby. I’m not ready — so you will have to
tell me when it’s time.
For that, I need you.
Source: http://www.scarymommy.com/parenting-is-bittersweet-between-baby-boy/?utm_source=FB
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