It was sports day at my son’s school last month. In celebration of Catholic Schools’ Week, each day was devoted to a different theme. Sports day meant the children were allowed to forgo their school uniform and wear a sports T-shirt. M J had planned on wearing his Islanders’ jersey and a pair of jeans, and was excited about it. When he went to put it on that morning, his long arms shot out from the sleeves like tree trunks. The sleeves ended at his elbows. Disappointed, he traded in his jersey for a Jets T-shirt and went off to school.
Was the dryer really shrinking our clothes that much? No, it couldn’t be, I realized, because the rest of the shirt fit him fine, but his arms hung out like newly sprouted branches. The school crossing guard did say how tall he was getting last week, and he did throw my shoes on (which fit him!) while putting the garbage out the other day, I remembered.
When he came home, I compared my arm to his, and then his sisters’, and finally my husband’s. His arms proved longer than all of us except my husband’s, but even that was a neck-and-neck race.
Wait, didn’t we just celebrate his 10th birthday? How could this have happened so quickly? How could my baby, my sweet boy who I’d dress in cuddly stretchies and snuggled up with in a warm blankie, become this tall, lanky boy … three years before hitting his teens? His dad is tall at 6-foot-2, but if MJ keeps up with these growth spurts, he may easily surpass that.
I’ll admit that my interest in his growth spurt has a lot to do with disbelief. I don’t want to know that he is growing up so incredibly fast, or perhaps, I don’t want to recognize that I don’t have a baby anymore and haven’t had one for a long time. Even more than that — gasp! — I probably won’t have one ever again.
I find myself recalling the days when my kids were in diapers. I loved nothing more than walking all across Brooklyn pushing a stroller, enjoying lazy days in the park, afternoon naps, and wide-eye grins upon walking toward the crib in the morning. I miss the coos and cuddles, cute mispronunciations of everyday words, the feeling of holding a sleeping toddler on my shoulder, the smell of a newborn’s head … watching a baby sleep.
We should have another, we say. Then, I suddenly remember the sleepless nights, pregnant mood swings, long days with cranky toddlers, the not-having-a-minute-to-yourself-at-all, and the labor (oh, for the love of God, the labor!), and I realize our family is complete. Yes, I do miss the baby days, but not enough to start all over again. And did I mention the labor?
Danielle Sullivan, a mom of three, has worked as a writer and editor in the parenting world for more than 10 years. Sullivan also writes about pets and parenting for Disney’s Babble.com. Find her on Facebook and Twitter @DanniSullWriter, or on her blog, Just Write Mom.
