Monday, March 5, 2012
from me to you.
did you know you are thirteen months old? did you know you are no longer a baby or an infant, but now a real live ONE YEAR OLD. how did this happen, i ask? i am determined to figure it out.
these days you are just more of everything you have always been. you are more silly, more fun. you are more dramatic and you give me heartbreaking tears when i take something away from you that you aren't allowed to have. you are smarter and quicker. you scurry your little booty all around the house leaving messes and mischief in your wake. you are more animated, more tender. you give me spontaneous kisses on the lips periodically throughout the day, as if its the most normal thing in the world. you are more fearless and more independent. i could write for hours about your independence. how it breaks my heart to let you do everything on your own.
this morning we ate breakfast in the living room, bathed in warm sunshine. we sat on the rug together, you and i, and shared a piece of banana bread. usually you don't let me feed you anything (unless it is a piece of my chocolate brownie) but this morning you were feeling more generous, so instead of devouring the entire piece with your pudgy little hands, you let me feed you bites, one at a time. i couldn't help but laugh as your little mouth opened with anticipation each time i broke off a piece of bread. into your mouth my offering would go and then you would scurry back to your spot on the floor to check on your toys, your dolls, your books-still where you'd left them. once you'd seen it all, back to me you would come. mouth open wide, long hair sticking straight up, soft cotton pajamas covered in tiny pink buds.
it has been so long since you let me feed you. i couldn't help but remember how it used to be. me, holding both your hands in one of mine as i fed you spoonfuls of mushed avocado. you, wide-eyed and curious, taking in the flavors and textures for the very first time.
now, you eat lasagna and sandwiches and graham crackers with nutella. now we take you out to lunch with us and order you a little side of macaroni all for yourself. now, you feed yourself the yogurt-only allowing me to dip the spoon in the bowl before i give it back to you and let you try to do it yourself. you'll have it no other way.
i've lamented over your independence before, with my own mom, and she always tells me the same thing- "you were exactly the same way". and of course, she is right. i can still remember it. tiny little me, standing in the bathroom on a stool, with a brush and a comb and a little tin full of clips. me, doing my own hair and choosing my own clothes and climbing onto the counter to make my own sandwich and dreaming, always, of growing up.
i have always known this about myself. i am very independent. but never before did i consider my sweet mom. i wish i had given her more time. i wish i would have let her make my sandwich and choose my outfit and do my hair passed the age of three. i wish i wouldn't have been in such a hurry to grow up.
i wish i would have known that growing up is totally overrated.
trust me on this!