Time Marches On

This morning at kindergarten drop-off, one of the Dads turned to me and said, "They grow up so fast." We've all heard this innumerable times, but I don't agree. In fact, when my kids were babies, I felt like the newborn stage was interminable. (Above a photo of the two of them the day after we brought the Caboose home from the hospital. It almost looks like the Caboose is smiling, but I think he's just trying to push his fat cheeks out of the way so he can breathe.) I know, not very maternal. But there it is. At least with the Caboose I realized that it would eventually come to an end. But not soon enough for me. I am not someone who does well without sleep, so the lack of rest along with the difficulties of breastfeeding (I can only use one boob, so supply is a chronic issue, but there were many others) and the never-ending tedium of diapers, feedings, pumping, baths, housework, regular work, cooking, etc. felt at times like more than I could bear. I would daydream about what life would be like when my kids were preschool age or older, able to walk, talk, and do things for themselves. In fact, sometimes I would have to chastise myself about wishing away their entire first year and instead try to get my head in the game, enjoying the present.

Now I find myself in this curious position of having these older, more independent kids that I dreamed of, and feeling some pangs for the past. For example, last night Booper informed me that he would like to get his homework done early so he can help me cook dinner. He explained that he wants to learn to cook so he can make dinner every night! He also offers to help with laundry and vacuuming. He is the sweetness, absolutely. But don't be too impressed. He now receives an allowance for the performance of certain basic chores (tidying his room, putting away laundry, clearing the table after dinner), and he can earn more $$ by doing extra chores. So this may all be a clever ploy to fill his coffers.

Lately, the Handyman and I have discovered the ease and convenience of asking Booper to get things for us so we don't have to get up. I remember when I was a kid, my parents would ask me to "get my purse," or "bring me a napkin." I would always think to myself, "what's the matter? Are your legs broken?" But now I see the beauty in the bottomless energy of an eager-to-please child who is proud to help.

In any case, while I am loving all this new maturity, I also find myself nostalgic for his younger self. The soft feet, silky hair, sweet breath. I crave more snuggles now with the Caboose because he still has that delicious toddler body, buttery skin, and plump cheeks. I can lift him and easily carry him. He stealthily climbs into our bed at the crack of dawn every day and burrows in next to me for a morning cuddle. Booper likes to cuddle too, but he is getting so big that I can now rest my head on his shoulder, instead of always the other way around. When he climbs into bed, it usually involves a knee in my (full) bladder and an elbow to my face. He has morning breath. He is a boy. He is turning into his own person and I am fascinated by getting to know him. So there is all this ambivalence about nostalgia for the old and admiration for the new. But did it happen "too fast?" Not for me. It feels like I've been being his mom for a looooong time. Here I am serving the brownies at his 5th birthday party. Check out his smirk.

On an unrelated note, have you heard this expression, "it is what it is?" I loathe this expression. I think it's meant to explain a position of Buddhist-like acceptance of the inevitable, but to me it sounds like giving up. A verbal shrugging of shoulders at something that is just not worth caring about. That attitude annoys me. It's like the new "whatever."