Right now, you’re peacefully slumbering in my lap, your left arm stretched above your head, clutching your comfort object. It’s not a conventional blanket; it’s actually my hair. As you drift into dreamland—whether it’s at 9 p.m. or the crack of dawn at 5 a.m.—I can feel the weight of your little body against mine. My lap seems almost too small for your growing frame, those long legs almost spilling over.
Yet, despite all this, you’re not growing up.
Just yesterday, I watched in awe as you climbed into your car seat all on your own when we were leaving daycare. My only job was to buckle you in. I can already tell that soon you’ll be doing that by yourself as well. It’s just a matter of time, and as much as I wish it weren’t, that time is coming sooner than I’d like.
You’ve become quite adept at pouring water from a bottle into your new big boy cup. Sure, there are a few spills, but overall, you’re nailing it. I remind you to use both hands and to keep a firm grip, convinced you still need my guidance—until I glance over and see you confidently holding your cup with one hand. In that moment, I’m hit by the realization that your hand has grown stronger, capable of far more than I’m ready to acknowledge.
You went through today without a single potty accident, just like you have for most of the week. This morning, your pull-up was dry, a testament to how your body is adjusting to potty training. Your collection of underwear has swelled from three pairs to nearly thirty, and soon, pull-ups will be a thing of the past. I’m overjoyed, relieved, and incredibly proud.
Today, you also returned home with a goody bag full of snacks from daycare, and your favorite find was the Starburst candies. When I asked if you wanted help opening one, you ignored me. So, I tried again, but there was only silence. Then, I watched as your tiny fingers expertly unwrapped the candy all by yourself, tossing the wrapper aside before popping the pink treat into your mouth.
I know it seems like I’m in denial, but it’s true—I want you to stay my baby forever. I cherish this stage in your life when picnics with me are the highlight of your day, when you still let me kiss your boo-boos to make them better, and when you ask me to dance with you (yes, in public!).
I understand that this won’t last forever. Your clothes serve as a constant reminder of your growth. The tummies on your T-shirts are getting tighter, and I can only hope that your pants don’t become high-waters before I’m able to switch them out for shorts.
But you’re not growing up. You’re growing out and away. Out of 2T clothes and away from baby books. Out of size 9 shoes and away from sippy cups. Thankfully, out of tantrums and away from riding in the front of the buggy. You’re growing out and away from me too—out of my arms and away from my protection, out of my lap and away from our cherished bedtimes.
As I fight the urge to hold you tight all night, I know that I have to lay you down for your own good. You need your rest, and so do I.
Rest easy, dear boy. No matter how tall you grow, you will never outgrow my thoughts or my love. You will always remain a part of my heart and my future.
Tonight, I will calm my heart and quiet my mind. I’ll close my eyes and pretend that by tomorrow, you won’t be just a little farther out and a little further away than you are right now. I understand that out and away stretch ahead of me, and I can still guide you from where I stand. With this thought, I can find peace tonight. I can accept out and away.
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In summary, being a parent means celebrating both the joys and challenges of watching your child grow. Each milestone is a reminder of how quickly time passes, and while we may feel a pang of sadness at their independence, our love remains constant.