I can’t believe how fast he’s growing up.
We went from bottles to sippies to big boy cups seemingly overnight.
From rocking him to sleep to “no snuggle mama”.
The paci fairy comes this weekend.
He uses the potty now, too. A home without diapers may not be that far off.
His giggle is less baby than boy.
His attitude is less toddler than teenager.
His drawings now adorn our walls and floors (we’re working on the “crayons are for paper” thing).
He’s stubborn. A daredevil. Independent.
We signed him up for school for the Fall.
It set me over the edge.
Sometimes, I am so happy he’s getting older. He can play with his big sister for hours. He can do things all by himself. I’ll get two full hours, three days a week TO MYSELF.
And then I have moments of sheer terror that my little baby, our last baby, is no longer a baby. Those are the nights I sneak into his room while everyone else is asleep and stare at him (and his sister). I stroke his blonde hair and smell his head, hoping some of that baby smell is still there, somewhere, but it’s not. It’s gone.
This Fall, he’ll have a backpack and friends. He’ll bring home art projects with his hand prints and macaroni necklaces.
I went through these emotions with Bunny. I cried like a baby in the car when I dropped her off at her first day of preschool. I remember exactly what she wore, what she said to me as I left the classroom. I remember how excited she was to tell me about her day when I picked her up. I was also distracted with a new baby brother, breastfeeding, bottles, diapers, milk protein allergies and post-partum anxiety. My brain didn’t have time to fully absorb what was happening. And she always seems to be older than she is. I expect her to grow up. I expect her to grow and become and amazing young girl. She’s my best little girl and my heart is so happy to see her growing up and learning. I love it.
But with Bubba, it’s different. It’s hurting my heart. Hard. And I know it won’t be the last time I feel this way. I have a lifetime of these moments ahead. I don’t need reminded of that. I don’t need anyone telling me that it’ll get harder or easier. I need to be here. Now. I need to mourn the loss of our baby years before I can pick myself up and celebrate a life without diapers or tiny sippy cup valves to clean. Because right now? Right now I’d be happy to keep those around forever. To keep my little boy my baby forever.
I’ll embrace the awesome little dude he’s becoming tomorrow. Or next week. But not today.
Today, I’ll try and get him to snuggle with me. I’ll tickle him in the hopes that little baby giggle escapes his lips one last time. I’ll let him have his paci when he’s not sleeping and I’ll sneak into his room tonight while he sleeps and try to find that baby smell one more time.