I Don’t Have A Baby

I’m usually not sappy about stuff like this. I have three children without a complete baby book between them. All of my pictures are either thrown in a box or live somewhere on my computer; if you ask me to find a specific one, I’m going to need a few days. I don’t keep locks of hair, baby teeth or the outfits they wore home from the hospital. I love that other moms do, it’s just not who I am. So, I’m not really sure how this happened or why it just hit me this week. I haven’t had a “baby” in my house for about six years. This is not news. But, for whatever reason, it’s hit me that my kids are growing up, really quickly.

Logically, I know this is happening. I’ve lived through all of the phases. The misery of not sleeping with a new baby, the early morning wake-ups (no matter what your night before looked like) with toddlers. The cuteness of pre-school and early elementary. I was there. I did a lot of heavy lifting. I was paying attention. But, now, it’s like it was all a blur. I remember lots of incredibly special moments–it’s not like that–it’s just not who I am anymore. It struck me when I was at Target (where all goodness begins) and watched a mom do the whole car seat, stroller, baby dance. All of sudden it hit me—that’s not me anymore and it won’t be again. I’m not the mom of little kids. What’s happening?

I get it. I’ve seen my friends’ kids grow up and I know how fast it goes. But, there’s a difference between it going by quickly and realizing the finality of never going back. Babies, toddlers, even little kiddos are over in my house. My youngest child has a birthday next week. She’ll be eight. That’s not little. I now have kids that are old enough that I can look at the baby section and think, “aww!” instead of “ugh!”

The hardest part is that I think it messed with my identity a bit. I realized that I’m not in that  club—the one with the cute young mothers of babies. I’m not an adorable new mom with her car full of paraphernalia that she doesn’t really need, but she doesn’t know that yet. I’m the seasoned mom who brought her last baby everywhere with a couple of wipes, one diaper and determination. By that last child I was a pro. I didn’t need any baby gadgets, I knew what I was doing. I didn’t want any more baby gadgets—I was over it. And now it’s over.

Now, I’m the mom of bigger kids. I’ve got a legitimate teenager, with another fast approaching. In a matter of minutes, two-thirds of my children will officially be taller than me (it’s not that hard, but still!) Rather than finding things to keep them busy, I’m begging them to come out of their rooms. It’s a whole new world. And even though I’ve been here the whole time, it’s like it just happened upon me. It’s like that feeling when you drive somewhere so frequently you sometimes forget how you got there. How did I get here? I remember taking a lot of turns and twist. I have all of the wrinkles and stretch marks to mark my course, but it feels like I just turned up here with a bunch of big kids.

I’m not sure there’s any other way to do it. I get “the days are long but the years are short,” that wisdom has never been lost on me. I try to be “present.” I soak all of the moments in. I make a big deal of birthdays and accomplishments. I cry at stupid school musicals and award ceremonies if the mood strikes—I’m paying attention! I just think that this gig moves at such a lightning speed, there’s no way to truly soak it all in. It’s like trying to take a picture of your child doing (insert any milestone)—it happens when you’re not looking and if you focus too much on taking the picture, you miss the whole thing. I’m going to keep telling myself that that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been on the journey instead of documenting it. I’ve been giggling, snuggling and let’s be honest, sometimes yelling at my little people to help them form into these big kids. Now they’re here and I’ll have to figure out how we get to the next part.

I probably still won’t take enough pictures or remember all of the funny things they said. I’ll probably always feel like it’s slipping away a little. I’ll have to re-invent myself over and over again as a mom of teens and then adults and figure out who she is.  I’ll have to just try to focus on being grateful for whatever kid I have that day–even on the smelly days. I’ll try to pay attention and know that the next phase is banging on our door. And I’ll help that sweet young mom with her car seat/stroller/diaper bag situation because I really don’t miss that part.