My boys are growing up.
Exhibit A: A picture of them playing in our rock pile by the side of the house (do not ask me why this rock pile is here--it is one of those rare points of contention between the Mister and me) last summer, when they were about 15 months old.
Exhibit B: Them playing by the same rock pile almost a year later, at 2 years of age.
Where are the curls? The chubby thighs? The frog-like, bent baby stances? I have little boys on my hands, and let me tell you, they love to get dirty.
I have to do things like this (juxtapose pictures from varying time periods) because they aren't changing from day to day like they used to. Charlotte is at that stage. One day she's rolling, the next she's sitting up. One day she's Princess Gummy, the next she's Fabulous Tooth Machine. You get the picture. She changes, and the changes are visible and dramatic. Not so for Jack and Baylor. They are turning into real boys, and my hold on the baby boys for whom I worked so hard, pumped so much milk, and lost so much sleep has almost totally slipped.
The only thing that makes me catch a glimmer of their retained babyhood is hearing older kids refer to them as "babies" when we play at the park. And in comparison to these rambunctious, verbal, fearless kids, yes, mine are babies. I think this is a good thing. That means they aren't growing up too fast.
(The other thing that makes them look like babies is when I let their hair grow out too long and it starts to curl again. But Baylor gets cranky and shoves it out of his face when it does this, so I don't think he'll let me grow those fabulous curls out again. Sigh.)
(And the side of my house? OH MY GOODNESS, someone please come and clean it up. My husband thinks piling rocks like that will prevent the water run-off that eventually leaks into our basement, but so far the leaks just get more awe-inspiring. And secretly I think he's loathe to move the rocks because, you know, they're a hassle. But they are getting on my ever-loving last nerve. Okay, rant is done.)
5 comments:
And then you turn around and your boy is 26 and hugs for mom are a rare thing indeed.
That's why 26-year-old sons make GRANDBABIES. Geez . . . I produced THREE kids to hug you.
I have a hard time comprehending much less believing that your babies hugging your mom was even remotely on your mind when you were "producing" them.
HAHAHAHA. That was a zinger, Laurie.
Only being a month into my first adventures in parenthood, I myself haven't yet experienced the feelings you're portraying. I am, however, already realizing how quickly time seems to go by when you have kids to gauge it with.
I'll probably feel like you do now when my son Micah turns into a teenager, and I'm left wondering where my hide-n-seek (or insert any other fun kid activity here) pal disappeared to.
Oooh, I sort of feel it now. Good luck coping! Maybe you should just have more and more kids so you don't notice so much :D In all honesty - even from what little I know of you and Stephen - I'm sure the world could use more Cases running around.
Just a thought! :) After musing on this, I'm considering more than the planned four!
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