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Growing up.
Dec. 16th, 2005 07:58 pmWe went to story hour today, our first time since Alex learned how to crawl. I put her down on the floor and she launched herself forward without a backward glance at me. She crawled into the middle of the circle, sat up, and watched Miss Regina closely as she led the rhymes and songs. After a while, she did look back to see where Mama was - briefly. That was it. She turned back to Miss Regina and started to clap.
I picked her up and brought her back to me for some of the lap bounces she particularly likes - "See saw, Scaradown, this is the way to Baltimore town..." "Two little monkeys jumping on the bed..." When they were over I set her back down, and she crawled confidently away.
She seemed so grown up - one of the story hour "big kids" I've been watching for months. She's shot up a bit in height and slimmed out a bit in weight, so she doesn't even have a particularly babylike sillhouette right now. When story hour was over, Miss Regina brought out toys for the kids to play with. Alex dove after the ones she wanted, reaching, searching, exploring, manipulating. Like the ten- and twelve- and fourteen-month-olds, not like the lap-contained baby she's been up until now.
I found it surprisingly affecting. I feel as if she's grown up overnight - as if my baby is replaced by a child - as if my time being the mother of an infant is over, and I never knew it was slipping away. I thought that this feeling would steal upon me gradually, that bit by bit her babyness would slip away until I realized that she'd been a big girl for a while. I didn't think it would happen so fast. Or so soon.
Okay, I know I'm overreacting a little bit. She's eight months old. She's barely eating solid foods. She still thinks cardboard is a tasty treat. She has no sense of self-preservation. She'll be my baby for a long time to come.
So maybe the change is more in me. She used to be a part of me, literally - I grew her and nourished her in my body. And then, still, for a long time after, I was the world to her. My arms, my sling, my curled-up sleeping body, encompassed her completely. Now she doesn't lie helpless and devoted in my arms - she flings herself at me, hauls herself upright using my clothes as a ladder, puts her arms around my neck, and gives me a sloppy open-mouthed kiss. She's so much more of her own person, separate from me. "Hey, Mama," that kiss seems to say, "I don't need you - I choose you."
I don't know if I'm ready for that yet.
I picked her up and brought her back to me for some of the lap bounces she particularly likes - "See saw, Scaradown, this is the way to Baltimore town..." "Two little monkeys jumping on the bed..." When they were over I set her back down, and she crawled confidently away.
She seemed so grown up - one of the story hour "big kids" I've been watching for months. She's shot up a bit in height and slimmed out a bit in weight, so she doesn't even have a particularly babylike sillhouette right now. When story hour was over, Miss Regina brought out toys for the kids to play with. Alex dove after the ones she wanted, reaching, searching, exploring, manipulating. Like the ten- and twelve- and fourteen-month-olds, not like the lap-contained baby she's been up until now.
I found it surprisingly affecting. I feel as if she's grown up overnight - as if my baby is replaced by a child - as if my time being the mother of an infant is over, and I never knew it was slipping away. I thought that this feeling would steal upon me gradually, that bit by bit her babyness would slip away until I realized that she'd been a big girl for a while. I didn't think it would happen so fast. Or so soon.
Okay, I know I'm overreacting a little bit. She's eight months old. She's barely eating solid foods. She still thinks cardboard is a tasty treat. She has no sense of self-preservation. She'll be my baby for a long time to come.
So maybe the change is more in me. She used to be a part of me, literally - I grew her and nourished her in my body. And then, still, for a long time after, I was the world to her. My arms, my sling, my curled-up sleeping body, encompassed her completely. Now she doesn't lie helpless and devoted in my arms - she flings herself at me, hauls herself upright using my clothes as a ladder, puts her arms around my neck, and gives me a sloppy open-mouthed kiss. She's so much more of her own person, separate from me. "Hey, Mama," that kiss seems to say, "I don't need you - I choose you."
I don't know if I'm ready for that yet.
