Lessons I'm Going
To Teach My Kids
Too Late #66
For every stage my son hit, I thought, “This is it, this is the best. This is the best it’s going to be.”
The first two or three months were horrible. He was so weak and helpless and he just ate, pooped, and cried. But then he got some neck control and it wasn’t so scary to simply hold him anymore, which was such a relief. I could put him down somewhere and leave him for a bit — he couldn’t go anywhere, so I always knew where he was.
Then he started sitting up and that was fun. He’d kick his legs, roll around, flail his arms, and eventually tumble the right way and surprise himself. Very entertaining and he still stayed where I left him, more or less. And I thought, “This is so much better now.”
Then he started crawling and that was cool — the pure joy on his face when he realized he wasn’t stuck in one place anymore. I could still stop him from going too far with some strategically placed pillows and he became so much better at keeping himself occupied because he could get to all his toys.
Then he got to the stage I was dreading and started standing, but it turned out to be the best yet. It was amazing to watch him teeter to his feet, grabbing the couch for support, and lurching around the living room. I’d reach out for his outstretched hand, he’d collapse into my arms with a big smile of accomplishment, and I’d just melt.
When he started walking on his own, that was great because I didn’t have to carry him quite so much anymore. But that was nothing compared to talking. Just a few words at first, then sentences, then actually making his intentions known instead of just crying and us guessing. But that paled next to completing toilet training, for obvious reasons.
Now he walks and talks and feeds himself and goes to the bathroom without us. He’s his own little man and his own little personality and it’s awesome, truly the best stage yet. I don’t really think about what’s coming next, but I’m having trouble imagining how it could possibly get better than this. I’m sure it will, though.
But now we have a little girl. A crying, pooping, immobile, wordless little girl. And it feels like our whole family has taken a huge step backwards. I can’t help but look at her and think, “This is the worst stage. This is the worst it’s ever going to be.”
But I know what’s coming, and what’s after that, and after that, so I can’t help but smile like an idiot as she burbles and coos and then vomits all down my shirt.
My son sees this and says “I’ll help you, Daddy” as he runs off to get the paper towels, and I’m so giddy with anticipation I can hardly breathe.
Lesson #66 —
These Are The Good Old Days
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