It Goes On

Sometimes, as a parent, I feel time moving in a very different way than I did before Baby Starr was born. For one thing, it seems to go so much quicker and so much slower in different ways.

Baby is almost 13 months old now. He is toddling - sort of, it's like four or five steps, fall down, back up again for seven steps, flat on his rear - around the house and crawling faster than the speed of light. He is everywhere all at once and nothing really contains him or stops him. He'll crawl over something to get where he wants to be.

It seems like a week ago that he was born. I look at him now and I barely recognize that teeny tiny baby I brought home. He is full of energy, full of noise, full of giggles. He's thirty inches tall, weighs twenty four pounds, and eats like a horse. He loves music and weather reports on tv, books of all kinds, and anything with buttons. He adores Daddy, loves Mommy, and tolerates everyone else with such a sweet disposition.

But everything else in life just moves so much slower. Work days drag, car rides seem longer, everything just seems to be moving at this glacial pace that makes me so impatient. But the days speed by and every one of them brings my baby so much further into life and away from babyhood. He needs a hair cut, but I won't let him have one. Once he gets a haircut, he'll be less like my baby and more like a little boy. I cried the day we bought him his first pair of sneakers and sobbed my way through Toys R Us to buy him his birthday gift. My baby is not really a baby anymore. He has definite opinions - carrots and chicken are good, Mr. Brown Can Moo Can You is excellent reading while Dr Seuss' Book of ABCs is not, milk can be cold but water had better be room temperature or else. He has a personality that is engaging and charming (and I am not saying that because I'm his mother. Everyone else tells me that [which kind of makes me wants to say "duh"]). He loves Elmo and has apparently inherited his aunt's horrific taste in music (once, in the car, he was screaming from deep unhappiness at having to be in said car and only stopped when that godawful Miley Cyrus crapfest Party in the USA came on and the little shit giggled). He has a best pal at school, an adorable little girl named Darien who is his bestie. He hates wearing hats and socks, is resigned to sneakers, and will eat sand if you don't watch him. Bath time is his favorite time of day (seriously. He LOVES the bathtub. When you strip him down and start walking down the hallway he starts to wiggle and squeal he gets so excited). If you say "arms up" while he's sitting on the changing table, he knows you're taking off his shirt and will put those arms up quite happily for you (probably because he thinks you're going to give him a bath). Every day is an adventure for him and for us, too.

It sounds so cliched, but it is so true: being a mother is the best, most rewarding thing I have ever done. I'm one of those annoying people who talks about their child endlessly. And I don't care. I don't understand why everybody doesn't find him as endlessly fascinating as I do. I often scorned those women, but now I get it.

That isn't to say that just because he's the center of my world, the rest of my world stopped. I still think going back to work was the best decision I made for myself and my family. I follow current events and sports and celebrity gossip just like I always have. I go out to dinner with friends every couple months or catch a movie (rarely) with Baby Sis or Omar. But my idea of a fun afternoon is a little different now. I still enjoy spending time at the mall and shopping, or reading a book cover to cover in one sitting, or watching a movie with a glass of wine. But if I have the choice of one of those things or taking Buddy (as Omar and I call him when he's not around) to the park for a picnic, the park wins hands down. He just makes me feel joyful.

Of course not all of it is smooth sailing. Teething sucks. Baby diarrhea sucks. Cleaning poop out of the bathtub sucks (although Omar's done that one because it makes me gag). The endless screaming and arching because he doesn't want to sit in a car seat/high chair/stroller sucks. He went through a phase where he let you know he was done eating by removing the food from his mouth and throwing it on the floor. He throws his sippy cup every chance he gets. He outgrows his clothes like crazy and I don't know what the hell they're doing at day care, but he always comes home absolutely covered in food (his clothes anyway). And the boogers? Oh my god, so gross and he never lets you wipe them. He's on Claritin for allergies already and he's only a year old. The ear infections are nerve wracking and hysteria inducing - for his parents. But for every pain in the ass thing about parenting, there is that moment when I walk into the room and his whole face lights up because he's happy to see me. For every screech and hair pull, there are the times when he snuggles into me because he wants comfort or a hug. For every item of outgrown clothing, there's a bigger little boy learning something new every day. His journey of discovery is just so incredible. All the wonderful things he's learning and doing and seeing - it's the most mystifying and miraculous thing I have ever seen.

Life is moving on and evolving and it is both the most wonderful and most terrifying thing I have ever seend.