Every baby mom wishes desperately for those pesky teeth to break through already.
Every nearly-a-toddler mom gets tired of people asking if her baby is walking yet.
Every kid mom anticipates the first day of kindergarten- filled with either dread or delight.
But I have always been more accutely aware of the smaller steps, the mini-milestones...
The first time The Boy sat all the way through Quick as a Cricket without moving, except to turn the pages.
The first time The Girl was able to find her own paci in the crib at night without me jumping out of bed to find it for her.
The first time The Baby took something to the trashcan and was so proud of herself.
Then this past Tuesday, we hit a milestone that I was totally unprepared for. So, of course, I tweeted about it:
The Boy asked for a snack after school while I was folding laundry in my room. I gave the standard response, "Sure, just gimme a minute." He replied, "It's ok, Momma, I can get it myself."
I didn't think twice about it, assuming he'd get an apple or a banana from the easily accessible basket. But no, he climbed up on the counter to retrieve two bowls, poured two different kinds of cereal, and then got milk from the fridge, poured it, and served his sister and himself.
And I nearly fell out.
There are hundreds, thousands maybe, of motherhood moments that I've already forgotten, or have become such fuzzy memories that I assign the action/word/cuteness to the wrong kid. But there are a bright few that are so precious to me, or struck me so dumb, that I'll never be able to forget them.
It was just such a grown-up, such an I'm a Big Kid Now thing for my Pooter to do, I couldn't even believe it. In one simple act, he threw off my whole perception of him. There are so many things that he doesn't need my help with anymore, but I wasn't prepared for this one.
Somewhere in the last 2177 days, my firstborn baby has become a little person. A self-sufficent, easily frustrated, independent, impatient, brilliant, kind little person. A thinking, reasoning, bargaining human being.
I'm sure there will be dozens of similar situations in the next dozen or so years of his life... little things he surprises me with, small capabilities that knock me to my knees.
The point I'm trying to hammer home, to myself if no one else, is that I'm just not prepared. I'm not ready for him to be able to fetch breakfast for him and his sisters. I'm not ready for him to manage the PS3 that I can't even operate. I'm not ready for him to bicycle around the neighborhood alone. I'm not ready for him to not need me anymore.
(Well, would you look at that. Shut my mouth and call me codependent.)
And you know what my husband said later that night when I, misty-eyed, described the situation?
"So? Now we can sleep in on Saturdays
and let him do the cookin'."