... I knew it was going to eventually but last night it finally happened. And I can still hear it as though he's standing right next to me saying it over and over again ...
Andrew was showering in our bathroom last night in an effort to save time (Davis was in their bath). He likes to stand under the shower and waste water, so in an effort to move things along, I went in and checked on him. I asked how things were going and if he was almost finished. "Almost, I'm just rinsing off. I'll be finished in a second." Then I took a closer look and noticed that the front of his hair wasn't even wet yet. I asked if he'd already washed his hair and, according to Andrew, his hair was "way clean". So I did what most mothers would do ... I reached into the shower, put some shampoo on my hands and started lathering up his head. And that's when it happened -
"I'm not a baby, Mom. I can do it."
I'm not a baby, Mom.
Doesn't he understand that he is? He's still my baby. He's still sleeping in the crib every night. I still go in and check on him to make sure he's breathing. He still needs my hands to walk because he's just getting comfortable with that second or third step. He still needs me to feed him the apple sauce from the bowl that I've mixed with cereal. He still needs me to help him understand how to say certain words. He still needs me to help him get dressed. He still needs me to rock him to sleep every night after that last bottle.
Ugh.
It's not that I don't want him to grow up. I do.
In fact, when Andrew was younger, I sometimes found myself so excited to see what he could do next, I was overlooking how cool it was that he had reached that current stage.
And Andrew amazes me every day with what he knows and all that he can do. He's so very, very smart. And I'm not saying that like how a mom thinks her son is the smartest kid in the room (though my sons ARE truly the smartest kids in the room), I'm saying that because he truly is VERY, VERY smart. And he's so athletic. He has a spiral on a football that rivals Brett Favre - and he's never played an organized game of football in his life! Any sport Andrew attempts, he nails. He has a natural ability to go where he needs to go on the soccer field ... he is one of the most teachable boys ever. He doesn't listen to a single thing his father and I say, but when a coach or a teacher speaks, he hears every word. And he retains it. And he implements it. And he amazes me.
So I'm ok with the fact that he's growing up. I am. I'm ok with the fact that he doesn't need me to change his diapers anymore. I'm ok with the fact that now when we hire babysitters the details on what the boys need while we're gone are minimal.
I am absolutely NOT ok with him telling me that he's not a baby anymore. Because he is. He's my baby. And that's exactly what I said to him when he said those terrible words to me last night. You are my baby. You will always be my baby. And if you don't like it too bad. I should have washed his mouth out with soap is what I should have done.
I can't understand how it's possible to love someone so damn much. My heart hurts.
Andrew was showering in our bathroom last night in an effort to save time (Davis was in their bath). He likes to stand under the shower and waste water, so in an effort to move things along, I went in and checked on him. I asked how things were going and if he was almost finished. "Almost, I'm just rinsing off. I'll be finished in a second." Then I took a closer look and noticed that the front of his hair wasn't even wet yet. I asked if he'd already washed his hair and, according to Andrew, his hair was "way clean". So I did what most mothers would do ... I reached into the shower, put some shampoo on my hands and started lathering up his head. And that's when it happened -
"I'm not a baby, Mom. I can do it."
I'm not a baby, Mom. Doesn't he understand that he is? He's still my baby. He's still sleeping in the crib every night. I still go in and check on him to make sure he's breathing. He still needs my hands to walk because he's just getting comfortable with that second or third step. He still needs me to feed him the apple sauce from the bowl that I've mixed with cereal. He still needs me to help him understand how to say certain words. He still needs me to help him get dressed. He still needs me to rock him to sleep every night after that last bottle.
Ugh.
It's not that I don't want him to grow up. I do.
And Andrew amazes me every day with what he knows and all that he can do. He's so very, very smart. And I'm not saying that like how a mom thinks her son is the smartest kid in the room (though my sons ARE truly the smartest kids in the room), I'm saying that because he truly is VERY, VERY smart. And he's so athletic. He has a spiral on a football that rivals Brett Favre - and he's never played an organized game of football in his life! Any sport Andrew attempts, he nails. He has a natural ability to go where he needs to go on the soccer field ... he is one of the most teachable boys ever. He doesn't listen to a single thing his father and I say, but when a coach or a teacher speaks, he hears every word. And he retains it. And he implements it. And he amazes me.
I am absolutely NOT ok with him telling me that he's not a baby anymore. Because he is. He's my baby. And that's exactly what I said to him when he said those terrible words to me last night. You are my baby. You will always be my baby. And if you don't like it too bad. I should have washed his mouth out with soap is what I should have done.
I can't understand how it's possible to love someone so damn much. My heart hurts.