The Growing Up Blues

Finger-painting at 12 months

I remember hearing lots of my mom friends talking about how difficult is was for them that their baby was/has turned one, to point that it made them feel a little depressed. I understood why it might be a big deal; we will never have that first year back, or the next year for that matter, or the year after that. But for some reason I didn't seem to be part of that wave of sadness. I attributed it to how I made a point of trying to enjoy and make the most of every second I spent with Meo. Sure, it is unbelievable that a year has gone by, but at the same time it has been the most wonderful of years and we have had so many great moments. All I felt like doing was celebrating his growth; not grieve for it.

Until last night.

Last night, Robbie and I were watching a movie. We had a half hour left from watching Shakespeare in Love  the night before (after nearly 1 year and 10 months of not having it, I had just gotten my period back and needed a night of watching a lovey dovey movie in sweatpants with ice cream and snuggling), and then watched Cider House Rules. About an hour or so into the movie, Meo was stirring downstairs, so I went to nurse him back to sleep. While I lay next to him, I was stroking his hair (which all of a sudden seems to be getting longer at an accelerated rate), and holding his tiny arm in my hand. I marveled at how I could wrap my fingers around his entire chubby arm, and wondered how much longer he would be so small. And that's when it hit me. He will never be so small again; from here on, he will only continue to get bigger and bigger, and soon I won't be able to hold onto his little arm, or enclose him so easily along my torso as I snuggle him to sleep. Then, as I heard his breathing change to its sleep rythm and I started to sneak away, I had the most horrible thought; someday, he won't want me to be snuggling with him anymore. Right now, he has a hard time to fall asleep if he can't feel my warmth beside him, and he clings onto me this his chubby baby hands so that I won't leave him. Slowly and carefully I have to pry his fingers off so that I can slip away while he slumbers. To think that one day, he won't want me to be next to him; that instead of having a hard time to slip away, he might actually push me away was more than I could bear.

I almost just stayed laying there next to him for the rest of the night.

But we were in the middle of a film, so I thought better of it and slipped away. By the time I could upstairs, my eyes were heavy with unshed tears. Sitting next to Robbie on the couch, I lost it, and openly sobbed into his comforting arms. Our little baby is growing up, and will keep growing up and there is nothing anyone can do about it. I was so worried that he will stop needing me, or not love me as much one day; it was overwhelming.

Now that my head is a little more clear, however, I know that probably won't be the case. Although he won't necessarily need me in the same ways, he will probably still always need me. And I hope with all my heart that he will always love me, as I know I will always love him.

Listening to me play clarinet at 12 months

chilling out with dad after a bath (12 months)