Right now, you’re peacefully snoozing on my lap. Your little arm is stretched above your head, still clutching your beloved security item. But instead of a typical blanket, it’s my hair you’re holding onto as you drift off into dreamland, whether it’s at a reasonable bedtime around 9 p.m. or during those early morning hours at 5 a.m. Your breathing is calm, and I’m almost ready to lay you in your crib, carefully stepping over the baby gate that now feels almost unnecessary. The weight of your toddler form rests against me as we cuddle, and I can’t help but notice just how small my lap feels with your long legs sprawled across it.
But you’re not growing up.
Just yesterday, I watched you effortlessly climb into your car seat all by yourself when we were leaving daycare—my only role was to buckle you in. Soon enough, I suspect you’ll do that on your own, too. It’s only a matter of time, and honestly, it’s a bittersweet realization.
But you’re not growing up.
You’ve mastered pouring water from a bottle into your big boy cup. Sure, there might be the occasional spill, but you’ve got the hang of it now. I remind you to use both hands, thinking you still need my guidance—until I look over and see you confidently holding your cool tiger cup with just one hand. It’s in that moment that I realize your tiny hand has grown stronger, capable of so much more than I care to acknowledge.
But you’re not growing up.
Today, you went through the entire day without a single potty accident, just like you have for most of the week. Your precautionary pull-up was dry this morning, a sign that you’re adjusting to big boy toilet training. Your collection of underwear has expanded from just three pairs to nearly thirty, and soon, those pull-ups will just be a memory. I’m filled with happiness, relief, and an immense sense of pride.
But you’re not growing up.
You brought home a goody bag from daycare, filled with your favorite snacks and treats, especially the Starburst. I watched you search for them, and when I asked if you needed help opening one, you didn’t even look my way. Instead, I silently observed as your tiny fingers deftly unwrapped the candy and tossed the paper aside before popping that lovely pink piece into your mouth.
But you’re not growing up.
I know it may seem like I’m in denial, but it’s true—I want you to stay my baby forever. I cherish this phase of life where having a picnic is the highlight of your day, where I can kiss your boo-boos to make them better and where you still want to dance with me (yes, even in public!).
I understand that this won’t last forever. Your clothes are a constant reminder of this reality, with your T-shirts becoming snugger and my hope that your pants don’t turn into high waters before it’s time 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 moving away from riding in the front of the shopping cart. You’re growing out and away from me, too—out of my arms, away from my protective embrace, and out of our bedtime rituals.
Knowing this, I resist the urge to hold you tightly all night, but I know I must lay you down. You need your sleep, and so do I.
Rest easy, dear one, and remember this: No matter how big you become, you will never grow out of my days or away from my future. You will always remain in my thoughts and care, in my heart and love.
I’ll find peace as well. I’ll calm my heart and quiet my thoughts. As I close my eyes, I’ll pretend that by tomorrow you won’t have grown even a little bit further away than you are right now. Out and away stretch before me, but I can still guide you from where I stand. With this knowledge, I can sleep tonight. I can accept the out and away.
But you’re not growing up.
For additional insights on parenting and the journey of growth, check out this post here. If you’re considering starting a family, find resources on fertility kits at Make a Mom. And for reliable information on pregnancy and home insemination, visit the CDC.
In summary, the bittersweet reality of watching your child grow is a universal experience that every parent can relate to. It’s a journey filled with pride, love, and a hint of nostalgia as we cherish each moment while reluctantly accepting the inevitable changes that come with growing up.
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