The Baby

“And she loved the little boy very, very much...

even more than she loved herself.” 

from The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein

Recently I was accused of “favoritism” by a young lady with a keen sense of justice named Grace Olding. She told me that she knew C.J., the baby, was my favorite.   When I asked her why she would make such a ridiculous statement she didactically shared several damning specific examples. I desperately tried to explain that babies needed extra attention, and that her little brother was still a baby. She stoically looked at me and commenced,  “Mom – he is five.”

Panic ensued. I tried to defend my stance that he was, in fact, still a baby. The truth was impossible to avoid. He had been exhibiting symptoms of being a “boy” for quite some time. He likes to jump from unreasonably high altitudes just to see if he can “land it.” He enjoys reenactments of Ninja fights and epic battles with Wolverine and Spiderman. He thinks anything that crashes or explodes is cool. He has an uncanny ability to make vulgar noises using his hand and his armpit. He even pees standing up… by himself! What happened to my baby?

I assured Grace that I had no favorites, but that I could understand how she could mistake my behavior for favoritism.  After all, years ago when she wrote in pen on our first couch I was livid and last week when I discovered that C.J. wrote his name in pen on our leather couch I smiled and called it “cute.” It wasn’t that he was my favorite, it was just that I had changed. Witnessing babies grow into people had shifted my perspective. I wanted to savor every moment that I could at each age. I wanted to remember sippy cups and super hero pajamas. I wanted to snuggle up and watch Jake and the Neverland Pirates and find “Tags” the blanket to help comfort C.J. because parenting three children had taught me some important lessons. One specific lesson was that these little things are really the BIG things.

This Friday “the baby” goes to kindergarten screening. Next year he will be in school. This is the accelerating pace of my life. I wish sometimes I could just slow time down a little bit so I could collect more memories, more Easter egg hunts, more living room dance parties, more gingerbread houses, more magic.  I have trouble knowing when to hang on and when to let go. My instinct is to hang on –tightly. I often times have to remind myself of an afternoon in my backyard last summer. C.J. desperately wanted to learn how to ride a two- wheeler so he could keep up with his sisters. He begged me to help him. His legs were so short and the bike was so little. Bryan took off the training wheels and I ran behind him, clinging to the bike. I was so afraid of him crashing. I ran faster and faster clutching the seat of his little bike. He screamed “LET GO!” Instead, I ran even faster until I realized I was slowing him down.  I was holding him back.

So  - I let go.

When I let go, he didn’t wreck. He rode off squealing with joy.  The truth is, C.J. hasn’t been a baby for quite some time, but I am afraid he will be my baby forever. I just have to remember to love him enough to let go.