A Changing Pespective

My kids are growing up fast. Faster than I ever thought possible on that beautiful April day that my firstborn came into the world; impossibly small, dismayingly vulnerable, surprisingly loud and wondrously whole. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that in the blur of sleepless nights, endless feedings and diapers too numerous to count, my tabula rasa newborn was growing into a sentient being with frightening speed. The milestones flew by while I attempted in vain to chronicle each and every second through the miracle of modern video archiving.

Along the way I began to realize that each phase had its unique advantages, heartbreaks and challenges, and that each one was successively more remarkable. I began to enjoy the progress, look forward to the small freedoms, and not lament the losses quite so much; though of course, I will always ache for that sweet baby smell and the tug of a small mouth at my breast. I doubt that ever goes away. I imagine that the most aged crone still remembers the downy contours of her infant’s head.

After a while I understood that I was living my life behind the lens instead of in front of it with my children. I was so concerned with recording their lives, that I was often absent from them. If you were to peek into our family photo albums and video library you would find that the flood of photos and videos gradually decreased to a slow trickle. Instead of endeavoring to capture each and every second, I resolved to experience them.

Those “ordinary” moments are filed away in my mind, and I find that I can recall them easily in great detail because of the fond associations formed through those shared experiences. I can’t do laundry without being reminded of my oldest son’s first day at the neighborhood pool; he marched in with pail in hand, water wings flapping comically, sunscreen slick and frighteningly fearless. The smell of chlorine or coconut brings it rushing back with aching clarity.

My children are now both school aged. In truth, I expected to be crushed to no longer have them with me. I expected to be lost, and I was a little, at first. But the day that my youngest entered kindergarten, the urge that struck was not to dissolve into tears, but to caper maniacally in my empty home to raucous rock music; unmindful of waking a baby or drowning out Blues Clues. It was a phase that gave me back my sense of self after being on the job for 24 hours a day for 10 solid years. As each phase has, it taught me to rejoice in the increasing independence of my children.

I find, to my surprise, that I no longer experience that deep, sweet uterine twinge when I encounter an infant or a toddler. I can stand strong when assailed by the scent of baby powder. I am steadfast even when holding a warm and boneless newborn in my arms. I can revel in and appreciate the miracle, without needing to create on of my own. It’s a day that I never thought would come. I thought I would always want more babies. I never thought I would be “done”. But I am. And instead of being the sad, used up feeling that I thought it would, it’s a feeling of liberation and anticipation. Just because my boys are growing up does not mean that the mommy chapter of my life has come to a close. I’m ready to turn the page and continue the adventure with my boys, who are fast becoming men.

Do I miss my babies? Sure I do. But they are always with me. And memories don’t need night nursing, or bottom wiping.

I'm not even 40 yet, but I find I am looking forward to being a grandmother. Squeezing and kissing and rampant coddling without the responsibility for molding and shaping. I can't wait.