My fourteen-year-old told me I needed to stop introducing him to people
as “my baby.” I’ve given this some thought—and this is what I’ve concluded.
There’s something about knowing your last child is your “last child.”
There’s something super endearing about it that cannot be fully explained. It
doesn’t mean you don’t recognize this child’s achievements—or acknowledge that
he or she is, in fact, growing up. It just means this one person holds a
special place in your heart that no one else can hold.
The youngest child often represents the final expansion of one’s parental
heart. And all those “lasts” are nostalgic. The last round of diapers; the last
“learning to use a spoon;” the last potty-training course; the last “Look at
how sweet he is sleeping;” the last “first day of preschool;” the last
replacements of broken items; the last “I did it” smiles; the last elementary
school programs. And the list goes on. Soon, this “baby” is graduating high
school and heading off to college.
Speaking as a mom, there’s a part of my heart that will always secretly
long to hold my youngest child as a baby once again. There are such precious
memories stored up. But I know it’s not possible. I can’t go back in time, I
can only remember. But remember I shall! And as long as I do, my youngest will
be “my baby” because even as I see him growing up into a formidable young man, I have the magical time-lapse
vision of one who watched him grow
and celebrated each incredible stage. I can still see the cooing infant, the exuberant
toddler, the thriving kindergartner, the inquisitive third-grader, and the
tenuous teen behind those big, brown eyes.
To my son:
You may be growing up, but you can’t fool me. There’s a bond we have that
can’t be broken—and through that
bond, you’ll always be my baby. I can’t shrink you down to that size anymore.
You’re no longer dependent on me for everything. You clearly have a
well-developed mind of your own. But these truths just make the beginnings of
your life all the more precious.
You’ve come so far. And I celebrate the greatness of your life. You are far
from being “a baby,” but you’ll always
be mine.
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