The End of Babyhood

I probably should have written this blog for April, which was the Month of the Military Child, but I didn’t realize these things until yesterday.

A random Saturday.

My oldest had his T-ball practice, and my youngest was “helping” me clean. We went to the pool at our beautiful YMCA, had some post-pool Italian ice, and came home. Happily pooped and cuddling watching a movie—that’s when I realized it: We are finished with babyhood, and I am completely okay with that.

My son has learned his letters and numbers. He is beginning to read small words and now understands emotional inflection when he speaks (sometimes too well). He has dutifully and enthusiastically taken on the important role of “big brother,” and watching him teach and guide (and try to control) his little sister is an amazing thing. He is certainly no longer a baby. He will begin Kindergarten in the fall, and I cannot believe it.

My daughter. My seriously smart, incredibly funny, feisty daughter, can now help me perform daily tasks proficiently and correctly. She attends school once a week, and the growth in her from this experience is wonderful, and incredible, and inspiring. When do we stop learning that fully? That quickly? When do we stop picking things up every day that we immediately integrate into our lives? She is a sponge of words, and colors, and activity. She is a parrot of the same, much to my chagrin.

So, there are no more babies in this house.

There won’t be any more babies in this house.

This saddens me and excites me all at once.

We planned our family. Two was our number and we have reached it. What I didn’t expect was to miss the little, wrinkly, exhausting babies.

I do.

I miss those days a lot.

But, I think I am more excited to see where my kids, no longer incapable of doing and going and seeing, will go and see from here. They are so full of life and drive and thirst and that is thrilling for me. What will they like to do? Who will they like to play with? How will they see the world? How will they understand this military life we have brought them into? How can I help them see this world, particularly this specific military family world, as clearly as possible? What can I do to help them grow and change and learn?

My babies are gone, but as I looked yesterday, I realized my arms were empty. I didn’t have to carry or cart or hold as much as during the baby times. My kids can now carry and hold their own things. They can make some of their own choices, satisfy more of their own needs than ever before. That freedom, if only freedom of motion, is an incredible gift. I cannot wait to see these incredible little people and the gifts they will continue to give me in this life.