There’s piles of essays about becoming a mom for the first
time. I mean.. entire books. Websites.
Blogs. Entire universes where you
can search and read about what it’s like to become a mom.
I’m here to talk about celebrating milestones when you know
it’s your curtain call. When you know
that it’s the last first birthday. The
last first steps. The last first words
and the last time you take the crib down.
Tomorrow is my baby’s third birthday. And, as the baby of three, I feel each and
every milestone of his marked with a subconscious sign that says “remember this”.
With your first you don’t really know. Everything is new; you’re waiting for the
next milestone eagerly, waiting for firsts you know are around the corner.
By the second, well.
You’re already a mom. You know to
sit back and to enjoy these moments, but for me, the crazy contingent of moms
who are wanting to expand past two, I had the little secret that this wouldn’t
be the last time. There’d be another
monster to join my brood and I’d have this chance again.
When my third baby was born I knew he was the baby.
The last.
The completion to the algebra equation that becomes ‘when am
I done?’.
And with each milestone achieved I sobbed. Real, ugly tears, occasionally on the floor
of my kitchen with a bewildered husband wondering what the hell got into
me. I mean.. to him every new achievement unlocked meant
one more step closer to getting a full night’s rest. (Because he gets up more
than I do with our baby… you get smarter with every baby. It’s true.)
I’ve never been one to ‘get it over with’.
My kids are all spaced three years apart so I could relish
in the time spent one on one. Little chubby
feet and dimpled hands are my happy place.
A baby or toddler on my hip, running around makes me crazy but whole. The
same way I need a few days away is the same way I crave their little warm
bodies curled into me, asleep and not at all concerned with the sleep I’m not
getting because they needed to be between daddy and mommy.
All five of us snuggled in bed is a sort of heaven I didn’t
know existed. And to be honest, still don’t.
Since all five of us in bed means one is gonna end up crying
or flying off at high speeds due to an impromptu wrestling match.
So I made the cupcakes for his birthday today. I texted friends to come over tomorrow night
for a gathering fit for the third child- his buds, presents only from family,
and a smattering of MY friends who will know why my eyes get misty.
It’s not because he’s so smart and I’m wildly proud- so so
proud to be his mommy- it’s because it’s another milestone met with bittersweet
tears as my babies grow up and leave their mom wondering where the hell all the
time has gone.
And then the ironic laughter that follows because all we
want.. us crazy moms, aunts, grandmas- is to have these monsters grow and learn
and develop into the type of humans that the world needs.
But tonight, tonight I will allow myself to feel the tears
roll down my cheeks as I think about the days gone by as I long for the nights
where that newborn couldn’t sleep.
Where the only solace on a fall night was to hold his little
body- all seven pounds- against my neck and fall asleep wondering who he’d
become.
Happy third birthday baby Grady. You are all I hoped you could be, with a
pinch of wild that makes me terrified, but excited, to see what you will do.
You are charismatic and hilarious with a soul that is so reminiscent of another
guy I used to love, sometimes it stops me in my tracks. Larger than life, a
constant source of hilarity for others (not always for your parents you little
shit), and our baby no matter how big and strong you will become.
Shit. You better be
big and strong. You already trash talk
better than most adults.
<3 o:p="">
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| I hope this does not turn out to be an ironic photo. |
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| If a picture is worth a thousand words than I don't need to explain to you how well this sums up all three. |
