Bendings, Part One

I distinctly remember a moment in my girl's infancy. She was perhaps three months old, not old enough yet to do much more than poop, eat and make funny faces. It seemed like those three months lasted three years. I sat in a playgroup watching other moms with their babies, and a few of those babies were sitting and—gasp!—crawling. I believed with every fiber of my being that there was no way my girl would ever crawl. We would be stuck in this quasi-newborn stage forever. I just could not imagine her getting older, growing up, crawling, talking, walking. I couldn't see past where we were right then.

That was before I learned that everything in parenting is either a beginning or an ending. Right when you got used to some action or phase or stage, it ended. And another one began.

I'm hitting two new endings/beginnings—shall we rename them bendings?—this month. My boy finally left his adorable bulldog-like crawling style on the curb and decided that walking is a better way to go. And my girl, the one I couldn't picture doing anything but sitting propped up on my lap in her OshKosh overalls, graduated from preschool.

Let's tackle the boy's bending first.

I know some parents wait anxiously for their babies to walk. It is taxing to constantly carry ever-so-heavy kiddos around, and it gets REALLY old scrubbing floor dirt out of every hand crease and toenail nightly. But aside from getting that first tooth (which never fails to drive me to tears), walking is one of the hardest milestones for me to absorb. I am so thankful both of my kids walked late (after 14 months for both) because by that time, the exhaustion of the daily dirt termination outweighed my desire to hold on to the last vestiges of babyhood.

And that, in essence, is what ended the minute my boy got up, toddled to me, fell, then took off in the 10 feet between his grandmother and great aunt. Babyhood. My boy, who always looked older than his calendar age due to his large size, was undeniably growing up. Sure, he may have been wearing size 24-month onesies at a year, but he was still that tiny little creature I met one rainy February night and instantly felt like we'd known each other for a lifetime. But now, here he is, standing tall and walking stiff-legged like a drunk Frankenstein. Looking all the world like a toddler. A boy. Not a baby. That stage ended.

And the stage of walking, running, playing, shoes, jumping and skipping has begun.

A bending.

Every time this circles around, I remind myself that each stage has something to look forward to. The gummy smile looked heartbreakingly endearing, but teeth meant introducing new foods and enhancing nutrition. Crawling meant a lack of freedom for me (what do you mean you're not in the same place I put you when I left the room to pee?), but more freedom for the baby. And walking. This meant the end of the infant phase, and the beginning of so many more freedoms and fun times for both of us. Yet I admit, seeing my boy upright, toddling around, makes me fear the fast passage of the years.

But I try to keep the beginning in mind. The beginning of my boy the boy, not just the baby.

Stay tuned for the next chapter: preschool graduation (yes, I'm still crying about it).