You’ll Always Be My Baby

I often forget how spoiled I have become in the past year with having two children who predictably go to bed in the evenings and allow me to have time to myself and with Classic Old Spice but there is nothing that jolts that realization back into my brain quicker than a babe that for some reason (molars, allergies, ear infections – the list is endless) won’t sleep.
Just last night my little guy (the one who is not occupying my womb) had the most difficult time sleeping and cried out at half hour intervals for about two to three hours. Each time I went to check on him, he was sitting straight up in his crib with the very most pathetically-sad expression while belting out a heartbreaking cry that would melt even the heart of Joan Crawford (remember the spooky “Mommy Dearest” movie? I think of her every time I throw away a wire hanger). You would have to be the most cold-hearted person on the planet to not pick this little muffin up out of his bed and cuddle and hug the daylights out of him. Yes, I am fully-aware that the “sleep experts”, particularly the one I swear by (Marc Weisbluth, Healthy Sleep, Healthy Baby), say to never pick up a crying older baby from their crib hence they will simply be conditioned to your cuddles and love and do this each night, but sometimes you just have to throw caution to the wind and go with what your mommy instinct tells you to do. Mine told me to pick that little Bubba Boo up and sit in that infamous green rocking chair until he settled down a bit so I did it. Immediately, I was shocked by the length of him – though my lap is pretty much non-existant right now since I am 40 weeks pregnant, I was still baffled by how much he had grown in just the past year alone. I was transported to a year ago when he was a little three month old peanut with acid-reflux and colic and cried constantly; it is amazing to think he is now this little being that laughs, claps his hands, dances to all kinds of music (particulary likes the “Happy Working Song” from the “Enchanted”movie and Dierks Bentley), walks, runs, runs some more, runs, and runs. He has recently taken to climbing on anything he can climb upon and has figured out how to open the door that leads from our hall to the garage – something Missy Moo just figured out how to do within the last six months or so. The physical prowess of boys is baffling – especially when your first child is a girl. Regardless, as I held this little guy who is trying to assert his independence from me but yet still needs me for love when his molars are hurting and will lay his head on my shoulder in the quiets of the night, I admit that I take advantage of the opportunity. He is so much on the go these days that to get cuddle time during the waking hours would alarm me – it would mean he was ill or injured because to hold him longer than 30 seconds invariably results in the arched back, “squirmy worm” pose, as Missy Moo calls it, and, if he is really angry, will add his high-pitched shriek that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. As he transitions from babyhood to the toddler world, to, eventually, preschool world, elementary world, preteen, God-forbid, teenage years, he will always hold the face I see now. The blonde curls that get curlier in the humidity and after running in the sprinkler, the chocolate brown eyes that replicate his daddy so closely it is scary, and well, the dimples. I have talked enough about the dimples but alas, they melt me. He will always be my baby – so much so that I am sure I will become one of those mothers that his wife/girlfriend will hand the phone over to him some wintry morning and say “It’s your mother. She wants to be sure you are wearing your coat and that you have a scarf, gloves, and hat…” I am certain that later that same day, the same said woman will be having cosmos with her girlfriends and say things like “Samuel’s mom is just so overbearing. For God’s sakes, she called this morning to see if he was wearing his coat!” I know this because I have been that woman and said similar things about guys I have dated and the one I married. Now that I am a mommy, I get it – I will try my hardest not to become this (I am also fairly certain that if I do, Classic Old Spice will deprive me of all communication devices) but even if I don’t make that call someday, it will be in my heart. And of course, not just for Bubba Boo. I marvel at the young girl Missy Moo is becoming – I love the sweet and funny things she says and I am astounded by her beauty and innocence, and yet, when I look into her eyes, I see the sweet face that greeted me upon exiting my womb and turned my world inside out by forcing me to wear my heart outside of my body. There is nothing like the birth of the first though you of course love all of your children and cherish each of their birth stories. What they all have in common? Even when they are 40, this mommy will still see the face of that baby…