- on March 15, 2011
Since the day I brought Johnny home from the hospital, I lamented that it was going too fast. I realize that everyone says that, and it's too cliche to dribble on and on about "it just goes too fast!" but dang if it isn't true.
When Johnny was born I immediately started talking about getting pregnant again. I could not imagine what life would be like if I didn't have a tiny infant in my arms. I needed to fold tiny clothing items and was aware that his days in newborn sleepers were numbered. My husband chalked it up to the rantings of a hormonal crazy person, and he might have been right.
These days, I've grown (mostly) accustomed to the idea that Johnny will be an only child. I have accepted that we are just not cut out to have a lot of children, or even two children. Truly, I often wonder if I could love another one as much as I love Johnny. Of course I would, but it's hard to imagine that life.
I'm happy when I think that I will never have to lug another infant seat into a restaurant, and my body thanks me for not making it stretch out like a full tick again. There are many things that I am grateful for, now that he's a little older.
Like, he can walk. He can walk and hold my hand. I no longer have to lug him up the stairs and out of the daycare and to our car. I don't have to sit and feed him his every bite, and I'm no longer washing bottles. And all of that is nice, and it makes my life a lot easier.
But at the same time, I want to cry and gnash my teeth every time I set a bowl and spoon down in front of him. I look longingly at the bottles that are still on the counter, because he might need one, you never know when he might need one. He can walk, and talk, and feed himself and soon he'll tie his own shoes and cruise right out the door with a "See ya, Mom." Every day he needs me a little bit less, is a little more independant, a little more willful, and a little more grown up.
And this is a good thing - teaching our children to be independent is job number one of parents. And it is the hardest, most gut-wrenching job I've ever had. If I have my way he'll wear footie pajamas and sit in a high chair until he's thirty. And if I'm this torn up about his ability to use a spoon, what will I feel when he loses his baby teeth, has a sleepover with a friend, or gets, heaven forbid, a car?
My mom tells me I can't keep having babies just to have a baby around, but I am starting to wonder if that is not precisely the way to go. If I can keep having them until Johnny himself is a parent I can bridge that gap between parent and grandparent seamlessly. And that sound? It is the thud my husband makes when he passes out cold.