Soothing Mommy hair
My hair is the part of me Michael loves the most. He uses it to sooth himself, sometimes rubbing his face in it or gently stroking it like some babes snuggle a blanket. But as he gets closer to 3 years old than his is to 2, I see the baby in him evaporating.
First I noticed baby fat disappearing from his tummy, showing him slimming-away from being a toddler. Last weekend, I was reminded that he had long ago stopped sucking his first finger with no encouragement or fanfare from me. Then last night, his Godfather asked if I am recording his voice — the “t” sound for “c” as in “Uncle Tiss” or his sweet “tinkle, tinkle little star…”. And that’s when it hit me. The baby is slipping from between my fingers. Am I failing to take note on some important, mothering level?
I’ve never been one who rushes to get the kids to move from one developmental stage to another (OK, except in the sleeping-through-the-night department when Michael turned 2), but I’m also not one who lingers on the past. While I love the idea of marking the “lasts” as conscientiously as the “firsts”, that’s never been my thing. I prefer to focus on the new, equating it with something positive and not lament the last stage for the sake of nostalgia. If I were being honest, I’d say that I rank nostalgia and tradition pretty low on my scale of personal needs. In fact, I worry around this time of year that my kids won’t be able to identify “family traditions” of the holiday season when they’re older because I can’t name any unique tradition we’ve created. Perhaps they develop as the family grows? But I digress.
Michael is changing, and I’m so delighted to see what he does next that I don’t spend a lot of time marking where he’s been. Someday, when he asks me about himself, I may regret this. Should I be labouring over remembering the fine details of him as a 2 year old — or will the essence of him in the hair-fetish recollection be enough to paint the picture? I think I vote with essence over exactitudes. I think it’s also safe to say that this is merely a passing interest for me — marking the “lasts” — because I know I won’t be able to make a go of doing it any other way.
So while I love pausing to relish his sweet, “excuse me…” to broach conversation or not yet fully formed “tank-you”, these are for me the equivalent of a chocolate break. While I try to be present every moment I’m with my kids and therefore soak up every ounce of their present-day selves, I choose to savour their spirits as one might steal a morsel of that dark, bitter sweet treat. As my Dad always says, everything is good in moderation; and overindulging is not my thing.