I stared at the chubby cheeks on the screen in front of me. So much of the image struck me with the differences. The chubs. The double chin. The hat with characters from a cartoon he hasn’t watched in years. The teeny tiny baby teeth with spaces between them. That smile now is filled with big adult teeth and big missing spaces awaiting new growth.
“I do not have time for this!” I muttered repeatedly to myself as image after image caught my eye, my heart, and my breath. How was this already six years ago??? Oh I miss those babies! “Stop it! You have to move!” I was selecting a baby photo of my oldest child at the request of his teacher for a special project the next day. I had 9 minutes between kid activities that night to submit an order for the print to the local Walgreens before rushing this big-toothed, non-baby-faced boy to baseball practice. I did not have time to wax poetic at the passage of time.
I dropped him off at baseball and headed to the store to pick up the prints and back to the field to wait for him to finish. Rushing and anxiety consumed my movements and thoughts until I stood in front of the batting cages with time to kill. Time to wax poetic at the passage of time.
My babies are getting older and I am not ready. I knew it would happen. There were many a days I longed desperately for when they would finally be older. When they could talk to me and tell me what was wrong instead of just crying. When they could pour their own milk, find their own water bottles, carry their own plates to the table. And now it’s here. And I can’t believe how much I miss the bottles, the carrying their little bodies everywhere, the baths. Not the poopy diapers though. Never the poopy diapers.
“Blink and you’ll miss it.” “The days are long but the years are short.” “You’re going to miss this.” We’ve heard them all. Cliches for sure. But true nonetheless.
I wanted to go back. To have a do-over. To get those moments back and actually get to appreciate it. I am staring down the tween/teen years and honestly they scare the shit out of me! I totally sucked at the tween stage with my step-daughter and, though I learned a lot from those years with her, they are mistakes I am scared to death of making again. Being too strict. Being too hard on them. Being too sensitive to the bad moods and angry outbursts that can only be directed at the safest humans in a child’s life.
Babies are easy compared to tweens!
I stood there watching his batting practice remembering the squishy little faces in the images I had captured so long ago. My pangs of longing stabbed my heart as he stepped up to the plate to take his turn. His limbs stretching out to the giraffe build of his 8 years. Pants that a few months ago were too long now don’t cover his socks. His shoes, floppingly tied, that already his toes are busting out from the ends not even making it through a full winter. Painfully skinny though he never quits eating. How is this the same kid as the photos now shoved in my purse? He waits for the pitch and swings. The ball connects to the bat with a confident “thung” and sails over the pitcher’s head. I try not to openly cry.
On the way home he talks my ear off. He regales me with stories from the event. Which leads to stories of his day. Which leads to tiny insights he has about life. He amazes me with his perspective and his small experiences that make up his entire world. It’s only a 15 minute drive home, but our conversation makes me wish I could keep driving or hit some traffic.
This. This is what we grow up babies for.