Dear Colin... (5 years old)

Dear Colin:

You have been in my life now for five years (and 9 months + 5 days), but it's a strange feeling that I have when reflecting back on my time with you. I feel like time is flying at the same time that I can't really remember what my life was like before you were born.

I knew the day I found out about you that I had sentenced myself to a lifetime of worry, but it's starting to get worse now that your dad and I are evaluating kindergarten options for you. Kindergarten. Just thinking that word gives me anxiety. Talking about it with you doesn't help, as you are worried about going to a new school, which isn't a surprise since you have been going to the same daycare since you were 3 months old. You're worried about the "big kids" and that you won't have any friends there (despite the many times I've told you that it's a new school for everyone who "won't have friends either").

I hate that you are worried about that because I see shadows of my own anxiety disorder in you, and pray that for you it's just a fleeting, momentary concern. Leave the uneasiness to your mom, OK? Because I know you'll be fine. You'll be more than fine. You make friend so easily and are "very popular" according to your kindergarten prep teacher.

She also said you were smart. But we knew that. You never let an unfamiliar word go by without asking what it means and are eager to keep learning to read, though you get frustrated at home when reading with me. It's probably because my patience with this task is barely even registering when you guess at the words. ("Don't guess honey. You can't actually think that a word spelled "g-o" is pronounced "because.") 

Plus, it's times like this where I realize just how screwed up the English language is. Silent "e's"? Blended letters? The words "book" "moon" and "door" all with two "o's" but pronounced totally differently!?  But you usually ask and want to read, and are proud when you read a sentence all by yourself. Plus your handwriting has gotten so much better in just the last few months and I love the phonetic spellings of "lov" and "hows". 

Plus, You Are. Freaking. Hilarious. You absolutely love to make me laugh, and it comes so naturally to you. Whether it's dancing around naked, making silly faces, or, yes, farting (oh the farting - whether it's actually passing gas, making fart noises, or talking about farting - you are all about farting. I actually wrote about it for a mommy blog and it was published on Scary Mommy) you can pretty much entertain yourself and anyone else around you.

And you are such a sweet boy. Whenever I wear a new necklace or shirt, you always notice and tell me that I'm beautiful. You made me the cutest bracelet from pipe cleaners and beads at school with pink and purple before remembering that my favorite color is blue, so the coloring is half and half. When I wore it to work, you were so proud, and it was adorable.

You still ask me to cuddle with you every night and aren't content unless some part of your body is touching mine, whether it's your arm across my leg at the dinner table, your head on my shoulder in bed, or your whole body curled up in the circle of my legs on the couch. Whenever I get a little annoyed at being a mommy jungle gym, I try to remember that this phase won't last forever.

It's something your dad reminds me when you crawl into bed with us. Which is every night. Every. Single. Night. Most nights before even your dad and I get upstairs to bed. You are right there waiting for us at 11 p.m. I have no idea why you sleep between 12:30 and 2 p.m., 9 and 11 p.m., and 12 and 7 a.m., but it is nothing short of a rigid internal clock case study. It's a little snuggly, annoying, cock-blocking certainty.

But it's impossible to stay mad at you. Even when you get bored when we are at a sporting event and ask me to leave 10 trillion times or throw tantrums, which still happen when you don't get your way after you try as hard as you can to negotiate what you perceive as fair, you will always sweetly apologize once you have calmed down. 

After a long day at work and school, we are both just pretty content just sitting quietly under a blanket on the couch while you are watching your iPad and I am reading or playing games on my phone enjoying the silence for once. It doesn't happen often. You sir, are LOUD. But that's OK. Your mom doesn't really have an inside voice either. 

We're both going to be OK. We'll get through this whole kindergarten thing together, like we have always done. Just don't get to college anytime soon baby.

Love,
Mom

Dear Colin... (4 years old)

Dear Colin:

What a year.

You are getting spoiled from the newly discovered soft spot that I hadn't known I had. Add that to the fact that your three older female cousins on your dad's side absolutely adore you and you're still the only grandchild on my family's side and, well, you were going to be spoiled from the moment you were born anyway. Add that to the fact that you're absolutely hilarious and forget about it. You LOVE giving ridiculous answers to questions, and laugh and laugh at my overly shocked reaction:

"Colin, what do you want for dinner?"

"Dog food... [Laughing hysterically] ... and legos [more laughter]... juuuuust kidding!" 

You make up silly songs and your favorite thing to do is sing them while dancing in front of the bathroom mirror. While completely naked. Oh the blackmail videos I have - remember that when you're a teenager.

It's so easy to love you, though. You're the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and I tell you that all the time. You are an absolute charmer who is nearly impossible to resist when you ask me for something in your sweet little voice coupled with raising your eyebrows up and down. You're cute and you know it, but mostly I'm just exhausted and will give in.

I'm tired because you move. ALL. THE. TIME. You don't have a gait slower than running and there is no surface that you haven't climbed on dozens of times. It's rare, but sometimes I am able to sneak into your bed and gently lie next to you to hold you, which I'm overly compelled to do because it's the only time you're almost still. And I do it only if I beat you to sneaking into our bed which you started to do a few weeks ago and now do it every single night. Your dad and I fondly - and exasperatedly - refer to you as our little "CB" (which is short for a slang term that's not appropriate for a four-year-old. I'll tell you when you're older - and you'll immediately regret asking).

I don't have to wait to tell you a lot of things, though, because you are SO SMART. Your teachers tell me they're regularly amazed at how advanced you are when doing educational exercises, and you love to learn. You actually ask for extra homework to practice writing your letters, you always ask me what a word means if I say one you're not familiar with, and you have been able to spell and write your name for a few months now. 

You absolutely cannot go to bed without asking me a number of burning questions ("Are giraffes taller than houses? Why do grown-ups get to stay up later than little kids? Why do we have a refrigerator AND a freezer?") and have made me aware of things that I hadn't thought of before (why ARE they called "golfers" instead of "golf players" which is in line with the reference to any other professional athlete?). You ask me why I spelled out your name in cute block letters above your bed constantly and I tell you it's because you're special.

And you certainly are special. Whenever you say "I love you, mom" I have to respond with "I love you more." 

And whenever I ask you what I love more than you (and after you're done being silly naming ridiculous things like flowers or dinosaurs), you eventually conclude with the right answer because what do I love more than you?

Nothing.

Love,
Mom

Dear Colin (3 years old)

Dear Colin:

Whoever coined the term "terrible twos" clearly did not yet have a three-year-old. Wow - everything they say about tantrums in year three being worse than year two is right. You're not only physically bigger and stronger (and squirm and kick harder!) but your will is iron-clad. When you get an idea in your head, I have to prepare for a long-drawn-out battle if it's one I choose to fight. 

The latest battle I knew I had to fight was when I told you that you had to wear socks with your shoes earlier this month (oh the horror!). It was chilly outside and it took myself and two of your cousins to put socks and shoes on you and strap you in the car. Without your coat. Because I was already exhausted with trying to put shoes on you, the car was warm, and I thought you'd settle down after we started driving. Thirty minutes later, when we were pulling into the parking lot of the mall, you were still screaming about having to wear socks. I gave up on even attempting to put on your coat. I'll laugh about this one one day. Probably. Four is going to be better, right?

For the usual day-to-day battles, like about how many cartoon episodes you can watch before we leave or how many books we can read before bed, you are a master negotiator. I mean that. You heard it here first, kiddo - you are going to be an attorney when you grow up. A typical conversation goes like this:

"OK Colin, go ahead and pick the book you want to read before bed."
"No, not one book. Two."
"One, Colin."
"NOPE. Two."
"Either one or zero!"
"NOOOOOOOOO! TWO!"
"Colin, come on. Just pick one."
"I'll pick two short ones I promise! Let's compromise, mama!"
"Ugh, fine." 

Yeah, I've taught you about compromise, but you still manage to use it to your advantage. And you're so adorable when we're trying to make a deal with me that I usually just go with your extremely unbalanced settlements. I mean how am I supposed to resist your adorable face?

Just do mama one favor... try and let mama think she won a few times in the near future so I can save some face, OK?

Love you Bunga.

Love,
Mom

Dear Colin... (2 years old)

“Love you Colin,” I said, giving you a squeeze after the giggle fit we had while I was pretending to think that your pajamas ate your hands.

“Ah-loh Mama,” you said in reply, smiling your full-toothed smile.

Laughing, I gave you another huge hug, as it was the first time you tried to say “I love you” back to me.

You are amazing Colin.

You repeat everything I say and even when you’re preoccupied with one of the learning apps I downloaded for you on my phone, you follow me everywhere around the house.

You went from only being able to count to 2 to being able to count to 4 then all of a sudden to 8. And yesterday, you counted to 10 for the first time (except you skipped number 2!). And when I asked you how old you were going to be next month on your birthday, you said “One!”

“No, Colin, you’re going to be two!” I said, hardly believing my baby was going to be 2 years old.

“No, one!” you insisted.

As much as I’d like to believe that you aren’t going to be 2, you are growing and you are learning so much from day to day. Slow it down, though, will ya?

Love,
Mom

We all scream for...

My 18-month-old, Colin, LOVES to “help” me in the kitchen, regardless of whether I’m cooking, sweeping, or loading the dishwasher (I’m well aware that I should appreciate this while it lasts!).

 So making our own ice cream was a no-brainer—the kid also loves to eat! His favorite part was shaking the bag of ice and salt… that is until it came time to taste our special treat. 

After tipping the bowl up to his face to make sure he was able to get every last drop, he gave me the pouty face that makes his mama melt and then cave in and give him seconds!

Last Day as a Baby

“What are you doing? He’s asleep!” your daddy said after poking his head in your darkened nursery and seeing me cradling you under a blanket in the rocking chair.

“I’m enjoying this cuddling because this is his last day as a baby!” I said, nearly choking on my emotion, as your dad just laughed at me and left us alone.

You graduated from the Infant Room at daycare on Friday and today there is a ceremony in the morning where they take the infant graduates to the big boy Toddler Room on the other side of the building. I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but when I dropped you off in the Infant Room this morning for the last time, and your caregiver for the past year, Fran, gave me a big hug, I couldn't stop my eyes from welling up.

My baby is growing up.

You’re 16 months old now, and are definitely a toddler. You are constantly on the move – with the goal most of the time being to climb one of the two sets of staircases. One has a baby gate up to deter you and the other has two cardboard boxes blocking it off, which you have somehow figured out how to unblock on several occasions and have given me that sly little grin from six steps up – you know, the one that says “I know I’m not supposed to be doing this, but HERE I AM DOING IT ANYWAY!” You also LOVE it when people chase you – I can get you to laugh so hard and so loudly if I just crouch down, tell you “I’m gonna get you,” and start chasing you around the island in the kitchen or around the armchair in the living room. You don’t run yet but you can walk rather briskly during this game!

I never have to worry about where you are because you talk up a storm. You say “mama” “dada” and “buh-bye” like a champ, though when you get excited, you let out a stream of “DADA-DADA-DADA-DADAs!) which I hear all the time when I pick you up after work, which cracks up your caregivers because I’m the one who usually picks you up – your MAMA. And you say and wave “buh-bye” to everyone all the time, even if they’re not leaving, or even if they’re on the phone and can’t see you waving.

You’re always talking to yourself when you’re playing, or look up at me often to tell me something. I can’t help but feel bad sometimes that I have no idea what you’re saying unless you’re pointing out the dog (“daw!”), your books (“buh!”) asking for some sort of liquid (all of which you refer to as ‘juice’ - “jis”), or requesting a banana for breakfast (“baba”).

It’s remarkable to me that you’re just 16 months old, and yet you can understand me just fine. I asked you to give a piece of paper to your dad the other day and you proudly walked over and gave it to him then came back to me and grabbed another piece and did it again (and again and again until he had a pile of junk mail by his side). You get your shoes when I ask you to and respond with emphatic nodding every time I ask you if you want some juice, breakfast, lunch, snack, or dinner.

Yes, one of your favorite activities is eating. You want to eat constantly. You want to eat when you’re done eating. It’s remarkable that your tiny tummy can hold all that food – although it does get remarkably distended when mealtime is over! But if I have to take a minute to prepare food, warm up food (heaven forbid I have to put something in the microwave and out of your sight!), or let warmed food cool down, I know that I will be on the receiving end of nonstop crying, wailing, and flailing around in your highchair until the food is on your tray. You need to work on your patience, which I’m constantly reminding you to do (though not really expecting that it will happen!).

When you were really little I taught you sign language for two actions – “more” and “all done”. (Full disclosure that I taught you “more” incorrectly in that I though it was when you essentially point at your palm. But it still serves the same purpose.)  I thought this would be a good way for you to tell me when you wanted more of something and when you were full. Unfortunately, all it does is give you a way to tell me when you really like something, because you emphatically point at your palm over and over again – like when I gave you vanilla ice cream for the first time last night. You only sign “all done” when I tell you that you’re all done and I take the food away.

Your other favorite things are all things paper-related. We’re talking toilet paper (on or off the toilet-paper holder, or as I call it, the wall-mounted entertainment system), paper towels, tissues, and napkins. You LOVE these things and carry them around the house all the time like a safety blanket. I have no idea why you love them so much; only that you scream if I have to take them from you to put you in the bathtub for example. I even found a wad of toilet paper in your toy box last night – put there by you because that’s where your “toys” go!

It’s also amazing to me how much you are learning on a daily basis and how easily you pick up new skills. We were all watching Michigan play in the NCAA tournament the other day, and your daddy did the motion for the referee signal “and one!” where a player gets fouled while they’re making a basket and get an additional free throw. You smiled and imitated him and now do the signal every time one of us says “Colin – AND ONE!”

You also love being a big boy, which is why it should be easier for me that you’re growing up. You love “helping” in the kitchen and will whine at my feet in front of the stove because you want to be the one stirring the stir-fry or flipping the burgers. I started bringing the stepstool into the kitchen so you can climb up and see what I’m doing, and all you want to do is be on that top step because you grin so proudly when I tell you that you’re “so big! (and protest so loudly if I pick you up and set you down!).

And you love your mama and your dada. You give kisses freely, hugs even more often, and there are times where you’ll just look up at me and pause before giving me your full 12-tooth smile.

You may be growing up, but I will still call you my baby mostly because you’ll always be my baby.

Love,

Mama

Not ready to let go of that bond

Today is the second day that I've hauled my breast pump downtown to work, only to pick it up and take it home unused. I should be thrilled. I've always said that "I hate pumping as much as I love breastfeeding." I hate that depressed feeling that immediately washes over me as the machine grabs my nipples and simultaneously yanks on them every half a second for 20 minutes. I hate having to interrupt my work day twice to go to my "pumping room" that someone else always seemed to be using to make a personal phone call. And I hate washing all those pump parts every day only to have to wash them again the following day. And the day after that.

I really hate pumping, but not as much as I hate the thought of not breastfeeding anymore. That's the thought I just can't quite get a handle on.

So far, all the milestones I've been through with Colin have been exciting. Everything I've witnessed has been a fun adventure, from watching him roll over for the first time to babbling more and more sounds to crawling and now walking. Every time I look at him now, I can't help but see a little boy, and not a baby.

I think I may be holding on to breastfeeding because it's the only thing that makes me feel like I still have a baby. Letting go of that means letting go of his infancy.

And that's not something I'm ready to do. I'm not ready to let go of my baby.

I know he's not going anywhere. He's just growing up. But I don't even have enough time to enjoy one phase before he's off on the next. I couldn't enjoy him falling asleep in my arms for long enough because he started becoming more interested in looking around rather than closing his eyes. I didn't have enough time to watch his butt wiggle from side to side as he crawled because he started to walk. And I don't feel like we've had enough time to bond before he falls asleep at night in the way that only I can bond with him. Just me. Just his mom.

Holding on to this baby stage is all the more important because he may be my only child, as Brent hasn't let go of his "one and done" mantra, no matter what I say or how important it is that I tell him that I want another one. It's something that's too important to me to let go, yet too emotional for me to have a rational conversation around, which frustrates Brent to the point where whenever the subject comes up, it goes nowhere.

So for now, I'm going to keep the morning breastfeeding before I go to work and the evening one before Colin goes to bed. I enjoy it, and I know Colin does too. Maybe it's my way of trying to slow down time. Since history has shown Colin isn't doing that, someone has to try.