This one's just between us

There are times when I long to feel the shallow breaths of the baby curled up like a bug on my chest, cooing in his sleep, tiny fingers grasping my necklace.

There are moments when I swear I can smell the lavender oil I once smoothed across his newborn skin, days when I see a photo of him bathing in the sink and would like to relive those giggles and splashes.

Sometimes, I go back to the evenings we spent in the kitchen of our old apartment, me spooning homemade applesauce and him flicking Cheerios from side to side of the high chair tray. I bounced on an exercise ball in front of him and we danced in our seats to Nickel Creek, Jack Johnson and Missy Higgins. And in that quiet before the storms hit that household, I wish to be be there for just a few more songs.

Occasionally, I think I'd like to watch my boy toddle from couch to coffee table to ottoman again or pull him tight to my chest while I nurse the baby to sleep.

I remember the excitement of tallying the words he could say by the time he was only months old and I would like for him to fit back in those little leather monkey shoes and crazy-small onesies and maybe even carry him around in the sling for a while.

I'm not a mother who has preferred one age over the other. I've loved every age for some reason or another, even when the heartbreak of crying it out or teething or time outs or potty training has temporarily silenced all those other delights.

And as I guess we all do, I see those legs stretch and his face change and it is bittersweet to know my baby boy is not just getting bigger, he is growing up.

All of that longing for the early days, for the completely dependent and swaddled infant were set aside last night. Last night when my heart exploded as we lay on the hallway floor, laughing so hard at an inside joke we've been laughing at all week.

All of this over Mrs. Peabody, a character in the book we read devoutly every night. Mrs. Peabody, who's character is inconsequential because her name is so freaking hilarious to preschooler who can't stop giggling every time her name is mentioned.

"Does...this...mean...she....pees...with...her...whole...body? Or....that...her...body's....made...of...peas?", he somehow got out in between gasps for air and shrieks of laughter.

This led me to draw up a picture and scribble out a poem about the newest Jedi, Master Peabody, in one of his daily lunchbox notes this week. And that led to a parody of this ear-worm of a song, which morphed into a slew of normally un-funny riddles revolving around the entire Peabody clan.

I know, none of this has any of you in hysterics. And wouldn't even if I mentioned that most of these performances apparently require recitation by a nakey 5-year old. But there we were, locked in a moment that can only happen when your kid gets to a certain point, to this point.

Of course, I miss fitting my child's whole body between my palm and my elbow. But now, there is this. And this is very different and still so good.

Comments

[2Jmama]

Yes!

[Big City Dad]

Great post Jess. I've loved every age too but it's impossible for me to think of my little girl as anything but a baby, even though she just turned 3. Lucky for me her favorite place to sit is on my lap. Daddy's little girl to the end. Never enough hugs, right? New to blogging and yours specifically but I really like it. Adding you to my blogroll if that's cool.