Mr. Independent

I received a good amount of feedback on my Facebook status update this morning.

I lamented watching Scott walk/run into the daycare room all on his own, without even the slightest glance back at me and nary a thought in his little head (or so it seemed) for the mommy he left in his dust.

Most everyone sympathized, and a few mommies pointed out this independent streak is actually a good thing - my little boy is growing up and has the confidence to go forward without my help.

I guess I get that - its a good, and valid point. But his behavior still makes me a little sad.

When Scott was a baby - an infant - Jim and I talked about "when he's older." As in: we can't wait until he's older and he can interact with us, he won't wake up every three hours, we can take him places, he can talk and tell us what he likes and doesn't like.

Well, we're there.

Tank shows us everyday that he's becoming a strong little man. His own person. He can be fun and exuberant, whiny and willful.

As I watch him, I vascillate between incredible bursts of pride and pangs of longing and sadness. I love that he's developing his own likes, dislikes, fears, interests.

But he's becoming less and less a baby and I am constantly reminded of little things I miss:

--How he used to let me rock him to sleep in bed or in the comfy glider in his room, his head perfectly curled into the crook of my arm.


--How his little hand would grip my index finger while he drank his milk.


--How he used to splash like a Buddha baby in his infant bathtub. 

--How he loved to be bundled into his Miracle Blanket/swaddler at bedtime, but then would delight in kicking both legs simultaneously, like a prisoner trying to escape a straight jacket, until he propelled himself in a 180 degree half circle around his crib, wore himself out and fell asleep.

It wasn't too long ago that Scott actually DID fit in one of those Bumbo seats...now they just make  great play toys.

Everyone tells you when you have kids, time flies.

That is and isn't true.

Individual days can sometimes stretch out for an eternity and leave you feeling like you are wandering through a desert without even a mirage or the slightest hint of water.

But collectively, they zoom by in a mind-blowing blur.

If I've learned anything in the past 16-plus months, it is to enjoy every fleeting minute with my kid -- even the ones that make me want to rip my hair out at the follicles.

Because tomorrow, I am going to look up at the breakfast table at a six-year-old who his headed off to his first day of kindergarten. And one all too soon day after that, I am going to be helping my 18-year-old pack up his room for college.

(And for the record: On both those occasions, he will not be allowed to leave without at least SAYING goodbye to his mama.)

Scott, trying oatmeal for the first time.  Jan 2011

Scott, devouring his own turkey leg. December 2011.