Saturday, September 29, 2012

he became a grown up, and then there were none.

IMG_1930Peter is growing up.

I walked into his room to put away some laundry the other night and gasped when I saw his big long body stretched across the crib.  He’s getting bigger every second.  He’s no longer nursing.  He’s starting to say words.  His golden baby locks are almost getting too  long to not cut.  He’s flashing his iron will.  He has a sense of humor, he’s funny and he knows it.  He is climbing on everything.  He’s making mischief, but he is golden.  Really, my pride and joy. 

I’m beginning to see why last children are always babies in their moms’ eyes.  I want to hold on to his babyness with all my might.  I don’t want this moving, walking, climbing, waving, cuddling, giggling magic to melt away into a grown up.  I know that what is to come is beautiful and miraculous and fantastic in it’s own unique way, but something about Peter being our ultimo makes me want to stop him growing up, to forever keep him my baby.

For heavens sake, I already miss who he was yesterday, and the day before and the day before that.  I miss last week when he’d sit in his highchair during dinner and fist his food (now he insists on using a spoon, very in-adeptly). I miss two weeks ago when he wasn’t 18 months, not old enough to go to nursery at church, the only two hours all week that I had him all to myself.   I miss last month when he was still nursing in the mornings, giving us both a quiet moment before the day came crashing down.  I miss those first days when he started saying mama.  I even miss those dark quite moments nursing in the middle of the night that sometimes I didn’t love too much in the moment.  I miss those first steps, that speedy crawler, that pudgy baby in the bumbo, that smiley coo-er on the changing table, that little newborn captor at my breast, that tiny ball on my shoulder, that new slithering body first swimming through the water, landing in my arms.  Breathing his first breaths into my eyes.

But time just flies. 

This tiny thing:


Becomes this;


and then this:


and now this:


Look at him looking out the window clutching his cars.  He’s going places.  He’s growing up.


One of my favorite board books is called 10 Little Babies by Gyo Fujikawa.  It counts down from 10 babies, each page with adorable picture of little babies doing silly things that one by one take them out of the story.  Lately I can’t read the last page without getting a little choked up.


I know Peter’s pretty far from being a grown up, but I also know that time will do that tricky thing where it will fly and then one day I’ll be staring Peter in the face, eye to eye because he’s as tall as me, and it will hit me that he’s really not my baby anymore, but a full on grown up.  Then the only little babies I’ll have are the ones pressed into my memory when I stop to gather them up and savor the moments.   


  1. Wowzers you are an amazing writer- pursue it! I want to read your words!

  2. You are making me sad too. I must press these babies/children into my memory always. Love the pictures of Peter at different ages on the couch - it is amazing how they grow!

  3. "I already miss who he was yesterday, and the day before and the day before that."

    I totally know what you mean. I often think how I'm going to look at Lillie when she's all grown up and be able to see every earlier age in her. It's going so quickly.

  4. I am feeling the same way about Katie, although she is probably not my last. But still, I can't stand that she is growing up.

  5. Just wait until grandkids - that is a special joy that makes up for your own growing up too fast!

  6. Wow, I LOVE this! And now my babies are all grown with a plethora of babies of their own. Sad, but so good! Have I ever told you that you should be a writer?

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  8. You are a stunningly beautiful writer! This post is so poignant. I have four little girls, and my baby (my 2 1/2 yr old baby) will be so for as long as I can hold on to her. One of my favorite quotes of all-time is from Barbara Kingsolver's Poisonwood Bible:

    "A mother's body remembers her babies--the folds of soft flesh, the softly furred scalp against her nose. Each child has its own entreaties to body and soul. It's the last one, though, that overtakes you. I can't dare say I loved the others less, but my first three were all babies at once, and motherhood dismayed me entirely. . . .

    But the last one: the baby who trails her scent like a flag of surrender through your life when there will be no more coming after--oh, that's love by a different name. She is the babe you hold in your arms for an hour after she's gone to sleep. If you put her down in the crib, she might wake up changed and fly away. So instead you rock by the window, drinking the light from her skin, breathing her exhaled dreams. Your heart bays to the double crescent moons of closed lashes on her cheeks. She's the one you can't put down."

  9. Oh my word, I LOVE that Barbara Kingsolver quote. And I LOVE this Sayds. So very beautifully put. One of the great things you have to look forward to...a great thing about kids growing up is looking straight across (or up) at that "grown up" that has grown from that baby and realizing how much you like them. Even the big version. Because they can tell you stuff and discuss things and they have ideas that delight you. It's so fun. But I will, like you, always miss those babies snuggled up in a little, tiny ball on my shoulder breathing gently into my ear and drinking in their baby-ness.
    Love you Sayds! And love that cute Peter.



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