First Times, Last Times, In-Between Times. . . .
We took our son back to his apartment in his new home town which is not where we live, tonight. Before we dropped him off, though, we fed him. And tonight, I tried to observe him as if I did not know him.
Usually when I'm visiting with my son, I perceive him as the little boy he once was. When we drop him off at his apartment, I'm always amazed that he isn't going back home with us. Tonight, I tried to see him as the adult he actually is now.
I was able to see a VERY tall, very red-headed, very good-looking, very cool, very intelligent, very funny, very grown-up man who held his own in the conversations, ate his own weight in pizza and stromboli sandwiches, and made us all laugh.
But adult? Sorry. All those things in the previous paragraph, plus 'my little boy.'
He'll never escape from my far-seeing eyes; and by 'far-seeing' I mean far-seeing-into-the-past.
Oh, ok. He knows how to pay his bills, cook, manage his time, and wipe his own ass.
But I will always remember when he didn't.
He might be 27 years old, but in my heart he'll never be much older than five.
I remember every detail of his little baby-boy body. I remember all kinds of first-times with him. First step. First tooth. First words. First visit to the emergency room.
I remember all the little rituals. The picture-books at night. The story-books at night. The to-be-continued novels at night. The afternoon nap routine. His first real haircut. All the little things in his room that were sacred to him. First this, first that. To-be-continued this, to-be-continued that. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night. The little rituals that would never change. . . .I remember all of the first times, and I remember all of the continuing times.
What I can't remember are the last times.
When was the last time I ran a soapy washcloth down his tiny back? When was the last time we sat on the fluffy blue rug by his bed and read? When was the last time I took him to the barbershop? When was the last time he sat on Santa's lap at K-Mart? When was the last time I actually saw that little baby-boy body? When?
When did it happen, that he took care of his own body and didn't need me to even check behind his ears? When did he start reading in bed all by himself and not need me to sit on the floor leaning against his bed reading aloud TO him?
When did he start brushing - and FLOSSING - and not need me to check the corners?
Firsts: I remember all of the firsts. The firsts are recorded in a book.
I remember every first time. What I can't remember are the last times.
I can't remember any last times.
Do mothers deliberately erase the last times from their minds? What's the deal?
Perhaps it's because the first times are recorded for all eternity, in our hearts and in little blue baby books.
Whereas the last times come upon us covertly; the last times come, and we never know. So often the last time comes, and we don't know.
This is probably a good thing. Our children grow up so terribly fast, and until a certain age, there are 'first times' for so many things. Those 'firsts' become routine, and we don't even notice when they are done. And then, they are not done any more, and we don't even know it till we force ourselves to think about it. And it's too painful to think about, so we try not to.
Sometimes, we are in such a hurry to get our children to the point where they can do everything for themselves that we forget to think about how very much we love to do these things for them.
Wash them. Brush their hair. Rub lotion all over their beautiful little bodies. Make everything better with a kiss or hug.
And then, before we know it, they're washing themselves. Brushing their own hair. And we haven't seen their bodies since. . . . well, we can't REMEMBER the last time.
If we knew that any gesture, word, deed, or ritual would be the last time, our hearts could not bear it.
That is probably why we don't know.
Comments
I'm all teary now and my kids are still toddlers! I loved this - especially the part that said you remember so much. I've already forgotten so much (thank goodness for pictures and especially videos) that I've worried I'll forget all the good stuff. Thanks for the reassurance!
Posted by: Chief Family Officer | February 15, 2008 10:44 PM
My six year old hurt his eye in school today (poked his eye with a book), which entailed me carrying him around, dressing him, helping in the bathroom, helping him wash and dry himself, etc. He was in pain, as well, when I tucked him into bed, so while I was waiting for the ibuprofen to take effect, I slowly stroked his hair until he fell asleep. Doing these things made me ache for his baby-ness, so I can't imagine having him be all grown up. Thanks for such a poignant piece.
Posted by: Kristin | February 15, 2008 11:13 PM
You have captured it -- completely. My daughter is only 3, but I can feel it slipping away already.
Posted by: midlife mommy | February 16, 2008 3:50 PM
Beautiful. Nice reminder. After what feels like decades with a houseful of sickies this reminder comes at a good time.
Posted by: Meg | February 26, 2008 7:55 AM
oh way to make me cry in the middle of the night! my baby boy isn't even 2 yet and already i've had some lasts. Last time i nursed him being the biggest. don't even know when it was.
what's harder this time around is that he'll be my last. when i was doing these lasts with my now 5yo daughter, i always knew there'd be another baby.
you captured it perfectly - how fleeting childhood really is.
Posted by: chrissie | March 2, 2008 10:47 PM