Baby girl, you a nearly two and a half. You don’t know it yet, but you are growing up and away from me with each passing day.
Every time I turn around, you’ve discovered a new way to stretch your independent legs. You wander a bit further from me; you reach for someone else.
You represent a stage in my life that I’m not quite ready to leave behind, and so I refuse to release you into the full-blown toddler years that you so desperately want.
I’m Mommy. That is my personality right now. My hobby? Caring for my children. I barely exist outside of my babies. As I write this, I am relaxing in the quiet room of a spa, a gift from my husband to have some time completely to myself, and yet I haven’t stopped thinking of you and your giant crocodile tears as I left, screaming “Mommy, I’m coming!”
As much as I resent it sometimes, I’m terrified of what comes next. What am I, without babies crawling on my lap, demanding to be nursed, held, carried, cuddled, tickled, and loved? I don’t remember what I did before. Read? Relaxed?
Who will I be? Will I have friends? Without the excuse of babies, how will I explain the giant gaps in my social calendar? What will my husband and I talk about when we don’t talk about current developmental phases, poop, tantrums, etc.?
And so, my baby, I hold you. When you come into bed at night, I cuddle you and know that my time is limited. When you ask to nurse (“Mommy, that’s MY booby!”), I unsnap the bra (assuming that you haven’t already, likely in the middle of public). I know you’re ready to be weaned, but what if this is the last reason you need ME? What if, once anyone can satisfy your needs, you decide I’m a relic of another time? What will I do then? What’snext for me?
All I know is being a mommy to babies. And so I refuse to release you. I need you to be my baby, just a little while longer.