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But I wasn’t a baby

February 15, 2007

Snow days facilitate many things you had not found time to do before and cleaning and organizing is one of the chores I tend to put off. Our play room is a wreck usually. We organize, plan, arrange and edit constantly but in less than 30 minutes the spawn have dismantled it so completely it looks as though 20/20 reporters will burst in to sweep their arm across the playroom and announce, “In just minutes, CPS will be here to escort these children out of the squalor they live and play in…”.

I found an older photo album of my son’s and was flipping through it reminiscing about his baby and little toddlerhood then while gazing at my daughter and wondering how he was ever that little and feeling a little sad because I can not recall exactly what he was like at that age. My oldest Spawn is so grown up and such a tiny little man now at almost 6 it is hard to remember that at one time he weighed less than 3 pounds and was so developmentally delayed.

One thing I do remember is tandem nursing them. Spawn has been totally weaned for about 1 1/2 years. One of the pictures I just love because it is so spontaneous and because it captures a brief moment in time in all three of our lives is a picture of us tandem nursing. I am sitting on our big brown flowered sofa nursing both of them. Spawn is probably about 4 and Chica Poo is a tad over 1 year. I asked dearest D to snap our picture and Chica-Poo looked up to ham at the camera with a giant grin and Spawn stayed stuck on tight just peering over my shoulder to look at the camera. I pointed this picture out to my son and asked him what he was doing in the photo. Spawn looks at me and says uncomfortably, “I don’t know.” His eyes dart back and forth from me to his sister to the picture before him. I laugh and ask his sister. She responds, “We siding you mama!” And then Spawn says, confused and a little mad, “But I am not little in that picture. I am not siding. I am a big boy there. I am not a baby there.”

I laugh and tell him that he nursed until he was 4 1/2 and that he was a big boy and nursed too. Older than his sister is now. I can see the panic in his eyes because he really doesn’t remember doing it as a big boy. Clearly in his memory he is just a wee little laddie that nursed his mama. I see that he feels so big and now knows what it means to be growing up. It is not something that is just happening to him but he is a part of his maturity now and not just an innocent bystander blithely meeting his milestones– each one a blind spot of stone to stand upon in order to reach his next mark. Time has meaning for him and the separation between what you do and what you know you do is finer and finer. I can still see that faint line that shows he is a little boy but the gap is closing in quickly.

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