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On her show we talked a lot about raising teenage boys. Nothing bad has happened, but I have noticed a subtle, but yet obvious change in my 6th grade son. The other day when I was having one of those moments with him I pulled up my Instagram feed and low and behold my friend had posted this video:.
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I literally watched it over and over until tears were streaming down my face. Look at her sweet boy running on the field with only one thing on his mind — waving to his momma. No longer does he see me and wave with no regard for who might see him or what they might think of him. A few weeks ago I was crying about this to my friend Catherine who has raised two boys herself and she reassured me that this is completely normal, that he does love me, and that yes this is hard.
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My son was a solid 9 pounds at birth and never looked back. As such, I was able to enjoy a year or two of pure baby roll bliss.
His cheeks were fleshy balloons, and his pudge created insanely cute and deep creases around his neck, thighs, fingers, toes, and wrists that were visible even under clothes. The rolls meant a little extra maintenance—the ones around the neck were notorious milk-trappers—but they also made him look like a buff mini superhero. And what mom doesn't love that? My 5-year-old is absolutely capable of unbridled enthusiasm—but it's nothing compared to the ear-splitting yelps of joy he let out as a baby. Like a tsunami of happiness, his squeals came on strong, loud, and without much warning.
It was like his little body couldn't contain all the exuberance, and—thankfully for me—the excess had to come spilling out somewhere.
Tom Waits - Baby, I'm Not A Baby Anymore Lyrics | MetroLyrics
He may be able to sit still for longer periods of time these days, but vacationing was surprisingly easier when my son was younger. If we were running late, we could just scoop him up in our arms and bolt to the departing gate.
Travel was cheaper, too: He rode on our laps during flights and train rides until he was 2, saving us the cost of an extra ticket, and we never had to deal with relentless requests for toys from the gift shop. I loved feeding my baby. Besides the built-in bonding time, it was widely respected QT where I could catch up on TV, check email, or drink in this wonderful, weird little person without any interruptions from the outside world.
And then there was the beautiful food coma that awaited him at the end, a sweet slumber that never failed to calm fussiness or cure a bad mood. For 18 long, terrible months, my son refused to sleep through the night. My saving grace during that time—other than coffee, of course—were his daily naps.
To My Baby, Who Isn't the Baby Anymore
I can do man push-ups. Okay, only like three. She sings, she laughs, and she is a complete and utter joy. Just for a moment. Now there will be new firsts, each one taking them farther away from babyhood. But also, I need to have a good cry about it. There is something so bittersweet about your children moving out of one stage and into another.
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