Monday, January 9, 2012

Ma'am, put down the stuffed hippo

Junior grew two feet in his sleep. Every pair of pants I put on him this morning were short. His legs look like they belong on a giraffe and his new haircut, which is way more buzzed than I'd like, makes me feel as if I should salute him.

I know babies. Drooling. Not sleeping. Teething. Bottles.

I do not know this little man-child. Everything is cars and wrestling and cool and "Fast! Faster!".

After pretending to jump over volcanoes on our way to brush his teeth he grabbed my arm and shouted, "Great job, lava protector girl!"

Suddenly I am a girl. Suddenly he and Chuck are "the mens" and they're too cool for girls and babies.

When did this happen and what do I do about it? All the old standbys are now defunct with this one. Everything I've learned—burping, rocking, singing, cooing—no longer apply.

It's a whole new ballgame and I am the rookie. The one at the plate holding a bib and pureed food when really, what the batter wants is a Beyblade.

What the fuck is a Beyblade?

Junior, of course, is taking his metamorphosis much better than I. I've been stumbling through stores, wondering how I ended up buying boys' pants that look like they could fit a teenager. Socks that look like they could belong to Chuck. And I can't stop thinking about this little hippo.

He used to be sewn to his mom, and Junior was perfectly content to keep the pair that way until one of his friends came over and ripped the thread, separating them.

When Junior told me what happened I said, "Oh no!"

Junior answered, "No, it's a good thing."

"It is?" I asked.

"Now he can go places on his own."

Damn you, Junior. Damn you for growing and being secure enough to seek your own identity and adventures. Damn you for not needing me as much and for morphing into a content giraffe-hippo man-boy.

It's everything I wanted for you and yet, some days the realization that this is just the beginning of letting you go breaks my heart.

Please stop growing up so fast? Please?


tootertotz said...

I feel you. My own little man-giraffe-hippo-Spiderman-Finn McMissile is ready to break my heart with his 5th birthday this coming weekend.

Somebody stop the damn trolley!

The good news is that I have the little nugget whose not yet 2 but he drives me up the fucking wall most of the time. You see, he is me. My karma has come back in the form of our second nugget and I am scared to death of him...he's a 20-month one baby wrecking ball. The kid's a hot mess and he's made me one, too.

Take that Mama Hippo and sleep with her. She'll keep you warm in that house of 'mens.'

tootertotz said...

Forgive me...I meant who's and not whose. That shit makes me crazy.

Sparkling said...

I can't even remember what I was going to put for a comment because I got completely distracted by the captcha word: fackh. Seriously. fackh. It's like an old Jewish lady swearing: fackh you, you sons o bitches!

SmartBear said...

ahhhh yes....this has hit me rather suddenly in the past couple months. It feels like my son has gone from 4 to 7 in the past 6 months. Yesterday, while my husband was out, I suggested he and I go take down the Christmas lights outside. At this point, he told me that I couldn't take them down....that I had to wait for his Papa to take them down. I took those bad boys down pronto.
He will be five in two months. I can't believe it. Truly.
We can get through this. The baby hippo still needs his Mama hippo, he just doesn't need to be SO close, right?

Pricilla said...

Suddenly I am hearing Sunrise, Sunset in my head

Leanne said...

Lovely. But it's just not going to happen. And I hate to say it but it's only going to get worse and faster. Sigh.

LazyBones said...

Let me know if saying please works. I haven't found anything else that does!

Man! There are a lot of holes in my neighborhood

Our young neighbors Bob and Claire are wonderful —which is a fricken relief because we basically share a yard. A flat, treeless yard. When ...