We’re in it now, this space between baby and boy.
We’re teetering, delicately and precariously, a roller coaster in its graceful pause just before the plunge. It was a little rickety at first, climbing that steep, steep slope: Sleepless nights. Endless spit-up. Needless crying. I felt each click click click of the ascent. But for now, we are floating here, balancing above the next phase of your life.
With your sister, I didn’t realize it was coming. I just woke up one morning and she was a little girl. Somehow, in one dreamless night, her ringlets grew out, her face changed, her speech solidified. I didn’t know there was a space between—until it was gone.
But with you, I recognize the signs. I feel fortunate that I can see it this time around, grateful for the opportunity to soak in every last minute of your babyhood.
In a little while, everyone will be able to decipher your sentences. You will learn to speak in a way that even strangers can comprehend. You are already saying so much — but it is a language just for Mama, things only I know, words that only I can understand. I am your translator. I get to tell the world what you mean.
I love how you need me for that.
Soon, you’ll have opinions about your food, your friends, your clothes. You might have favorite shirts, or prefer shorts to pants, or reject every outfit I choose just because you can. But this morning, I snapped closed your onesie and you giggled at the sound. I zipped up your fleece. I had to put on your socks.
I love how you need me for that.
Any minute now, your precious drunken stagger will, almost mid-stride, turn into a run. You will learn to jump — really jump, like you pretend to when you bend your round little knees over and over, your face beaming with pride. One day your feet will leave the floor, and those baby knee-bends will be gone. You will throw farther. You will climb higher. But right now, I carry you when you stumble. I lift you onto the swings. I walk beside you on the stairs.
I love how you need me for that.
