A fun fact about me: today was my due date, some 30+ years ago. Instead, I chose to bide my time, appearing ten days later on the 12th. I was supposed to be a Groundhog Day arrival and ended up a Lincoln baby.
My son came in my room the other morning, as he usually does when he wakes up. I had been up quite a bit during the night with the baby, so I was still very tired, and when he said in his little cheery voice, 'Good morning, Mom!', I just wanted him to go away. Half-asleep, with my eyes still closed, I told him to climb up in bed with me and cuddle a little bit, hoping to score a few more minutes lounging in bed. He did, and as he nestled into my chest, I ran my arm around his backside to pull him in closer and got a little surprise. Rather than the flannel jammie bottoms I expected to feel, my hand instead cradled a little bare bum. I opened my eyes and asked him, 'What happened to your pants?' He smiled at me and said, 'I peed in them so I took them off!' He paused a moment, perhaps for dramatic effect, then added, 'All by myself.'
All by myself. AS parents, part of our job is to move our kids to that phrase in every aspect of their lives. It starts almost from birth. Don't rock your baby to sleep, or he'll never learn to fall asleep on his own! Be sure your baby gets plenty of tummy time, so he can learn to hold his head up by himself. We're given these helpless creatures who are completely dependant on us and expected to turn out independent young adults in the 18 or so years that we have them.
Working towards this independence is quite a job, especially in the early years. My three year old can now go to the potty himself, relieving me of the diaper duty that kept him dependent on me. He can undress himself for the most part, and we're working now on getting dressed. He can put him own undies on, and most of the time his pants too. He can feed himself, but he's been doing that for a long time now. Not too long ago, he surprised us at how little he needed us to help with the TiVo, as he nonchalantly paused his show to run and get some milk.
It's so cute to see this little person develop. I can't believe this is the same newborn that we brought home a little more than three years ago. All of a sudden, it seems, he's doing his own thing. He tells me, 'Just a moment, Mom, I have to go check something.' Or he'll say, 'I've got a good idea! Maybe we could go eat some pizza!' Just this morning he told me, 'When the clock gets on seven, then it will be time for you to play with me.'
But each step towards independence is ultimately a step away from me. Soon he won't need me to help him put his shoes on. He won't want me picking him up from school, or hanging out on a Friday night. I am pouring my life and soul into these years with him, only to know that he will be leaving me in the end.
And that's the kicker. Every parent knows that the day is coming; it's lurking somewhere in the murky future when your child's life is no longer dependent on you. It's sweet and sour – the ache you feel at being not necessary is tempered by the wonder that is this new, independent person that you helped shape. I feel it now, even as my son is still a toddler. I miss shoveling cereal in his little mouth, but look how great he is at using that spoon himself.
So as you grow, dear son, I'll keep pushing you to do it yourself. Because one day, sooner than I'll be ready for, it will be all you. And I'll be content to sit back and admire my handiwork.
February 2, 2007
Showing posts with label toddler. Show all posts
Showing posts with label toddler. Show all posts
Friday, August 14, 2009
Bedtime musings
Ask any mother what her favorite time of day is, and I'd say that majority of your answers will be 'Bedtime'! Anyone who says otherwise is secretly thinking that anyway.
As much as I love my two boys, I'm ready for a break once bedtime rolls around. Tonight, two books, one music CD, and last minute trip up to administer cough medicine and the promise of a spanking should I hear the tell-tale patter of feet on the ceiling, and finally it is quiet. But before I get into my projects, I have to make sure that sleep has indeed stolen them away.
First up, the toddler. My first baby, not a baby anymore,pushing even the boundaries of toddlerhood. He moves nonstop during the day, drawing from a reserve of energy that I marvel at constantly. He is still only in sleep. And yet, not still. He's decided to sleep curled up on the floor in the corner between his bed and the wall. It's tempting to leave him there, but I haul him up to his bed anyway, tucking in arms and legs that flail lifelessly this way and that. He's getting heavier. I can still manuever him for now, but how much longer?. One side of his head is damp and sweaty from being ground into the carpet, and it puts off a faint soapy scent from a pre-bedtime bath. I lay him on his back, and he readjusts himself onto his side, groaning softly. From the light in the hall, I can make out the traces of the infant I brought home three years ago. His mouth is slightly agape, drool pooling in the corner, threatening to spill over at any minute onto his beloved bug pillowcase. He sighs once more and settles into the deep breathing of sleep. I'm convinced.
On to the baby. Not yet three months old, we're still working on the concept that night is for sleeping, and sleeping for long stretches of time, at that. In fact, last night was the first six hour stretch that he slept and it was like cool water to my parched, tired body. I'm hoping he repeats it tonight. I creep up to the bassinet and peek over, half expecting to see bright eyes staring back at me and - thank you God! - he's out. I'm struck by how small he is, especially in comparison to the toddler I've just visited. And yet I can see how much he's grown, even in the twelve weeks since we brought him home. So small, so big. He's wormed his way out of his swaddling. I wrapped him tightly when I put him down, I know it. And yet somehow this tiny being who can't even support his own body weight can squirm out of this straightjacket of a blanket. He's only gotten one arm out, though, and his tight fist rests gently beside his head. His head is slightly damp too, perhaps sweaty from the struggle it took to liberate that one fist from the confines of his bedding. In the semi-darkness, I realize that I'm straining to see his chest rise and fall with each breath. He seems unnaturally still all of a sudden....wait....a big intake of air.....and back out again. Ok; still breathing. And then a fluttering of eyelids, a contorted face, and a cry that never quite makes it out....a few seconds later, his face relaxes and he's still once again. I'm convinced.
Back downstairs, I'm ready for Me time. I fix my tea, cue up my TiVo....and all I want to do is wake up my babies and revel in their sweetness.
November 2, 1996
As much as I love my two boys, I'm ready for a break once bedtime rolls around. Tonight, two books, one music CD, and last minute trip up to administer cough medicine and the promise of a spanking should I hear the tell-tale patter of feet on the ceiling, and finally it is quiet. But before I get into my projects, I have to make sure that sleep has indeed stolen them away.
First up, the toddler. My first baby, not a baby anymore,pushing even the boundaries of toddlerhood. He moves nonstop during the day, drawing from a reserve of energy that I marvel at constantly. He is still only in sleep. And yet, not still. He's decided to sleep curled up on the floor in the corner between his bed and the wall. It's tempting to leave him there, but I haul him up to his bed anyway, tucking in arms and legs that flail lifelessly this way and that. He's getting heavier. I can still manuever him for now, but how much longer?. One side of his head is damp and sweaty from being ground into the carpet, and it puts off a faint soapy scent from a pre-bedtime bath. I lay him on his back, and he readjusts himself onto his side, groaning softly. From the light in the hall, I can make out the traces of the infant I brought home three years ago. His mouth is slightly agape, drool pooling in the corner, threatening to spill over at any minute onto his beloved bug pillowcase. He sighs once more and settles into the deep breathing of sleep. I'm convinced.
On to the baby. Not yet three months old, we're still working on the concept that night is for sleeping, and sleeping for long stretches of time, at that. In fact, last night was the first six hour stretch that he slept and it was like cool water to my parched, tired body. I'm hoping he repeats it tonight. I creep up to the bassinet and peek over, half expecting to see bright eyes staring back at me and - thank you God! - he's out. I'm struck by how small he is, especially in comparison to the toddler I've just visited. And yet I can see how much he's grown, even in the twelve weeks since we brought him home. So small, so big. He's wormed his way out of his swaddling. I wrapped him tightly when I put him down, I know it. And yet somehow this tiny being who can't even support his own body weight can squirm out of this straightjacket of a blanket. He's only gotten one arm out, though, and his tight fist rests gently beside his head. His head is slightly damp too, perhaps sweaty from the struggle it took to liberate that one fist from the confines of his bedding. In the semi-darkness, I realize that I'm straining to see his chest rise and fall with each breath. He seems unnaturally still all of a sudden....wait....a big intake of air.....and back out again. Ok; still breathing. And then a fluttering of eyelids, a contorted face, and a cry that never quite makes it out....a few seconds later, his face relaxes and he's still once again. I'm convinced.
Back downstairs, I'm ready for Me time. I fix my tea, cue up my TiVo....and all I want to do is wake up my babies and revel in their sweetness.
November 2, 1996
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