Something strange is happening to my little boy. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it at first, but yesterday one of his teachers spurted it out, He’s lost weight and shot up! He’s not a baby anymore! I literally felt my throat close up. I remained silent, blatantly pretending I hadn’t heard what she had just said.
I spent the rest of the day watching him closely, observing his body as he played and watching how he moved. I stared at him for longer stretches of time than I normally do.
And then I realized she was right.
He has lost that last little bit of baby fat that made him all soft and round around the edges. His body has become longer and leaner. Gone is the beautiful pronounced tummy hanging over his waistband and the squishy love handles spilling over his soccer shorts. Gone are the dimples in his little bum and thighs.
There are two reasons I hate this. 1. I’m the only one left with a flabby tummy and a dimpled bum in the house and 2. It really is final now. My baby is gone.
His wrists have become harder and lost all their chubby padding, his feet have become stronger and more solid. His thighs and calves have obtained a certain definition that wasn’t there before and his face is longer, more mature and defined.
“It’s too soon for this” I whisper to myself. “How can we be here already for the second time?
Our baby is growing up. So many precious baby years that we rushed through. So many moments that have been lived and enjoyed. And now here I sit contemplating these precious baby years, literally begging the question like all the mothers before me, Where has all the time gone?
Did I kiss his chubby tummy enough? NO. Did I cuddle his spongy little body enough? NO. Did I bury my face into the deep crevices of his neck at any opportunity that presented itself? NO.
Okay, who are we kidding? I probably did, but lets face it – could it ever really be enough?
Everybody tells you it’s going to be over before you know it. Part of you in the hair-pulling moments hopes to God above they are right. But nothing can really prepare you for those moments of realization when suddenly, you know that everything those people warned you about is true.
It does go by fast. Too fast for any normal person to accept without feeling a sharp jab in their heart every time they blink their eyelids. As excited as I am about all the future holds and the awesome new stages of life we are entering into, I can’t help but feel I need to get over my feelings of loss.
Like with any good recovery program it needs to be dealt with in steps, but I have a feeling it’s going to be a long road before I’m ready for step two. I’m struggling with the first one, the hardest one. Acceptance.