Rocco turns 4.
I feel like I should be upset about my age. Don't women freak out about turning 40? Maybe I will when it gets closer. Today, I am totally fine with it. I look and feel better than I did when I was 20. And I'm much happier in my skin today than I have ever been. 40 can bring it.
I'm more upset about Rocco turning 4. He is my baby.
Only he is no longer a baby. He is a little boy. One who runs and jumps. Goes to school. Has dentist appointments. Spends every other weekend away from me at his Dad's.
He has opinions. He gets angry. He remembers everything. Mostly the things you hoped he had forgotten.
He no longer needs me to carry him. Nurse him. Feed him.
He doesn't need me like he used to.
This is all very bitter sweet. I love him more every day. He is so smart. We have interesting conversations. He makes me laugh. I'm amazed by how his little brain works. Each day is a new adventure.
He is polite, He is kind. He is healthy. Imaginative. I like the person he is becoming.
But each day he grows I feel like I am that much closer to losing my baby.
I remember thinking when he weened off breast feeding that I understood why people had more than one child. The first tooth. The first step. The intimate, quiet bond of breast feeding. Moments in time that are so beautiful and precious but that pass far too quickly. You will never get those moments back. But they are etched in your memory and you long for them back.
I did not want more than one child when I had Rocco. I always considered myself a 'one and done' kind of Mom. Today I have no other option. I AM a 'one and done' Mom whether I like it or not. Rocco's dad and I divorced before Rocco was 2. My current boyfriend is the father of a 20 year old. He isn't interested in 3am bottle feedings and adding diapers to his budget after all of this time. Plus, I am 40. If I'm getting pregnant I need to do it quick. It's just not happening.
Even if I did have another baby that wouldn't keep Rocco from growing. He is still going to get taller. He is still going to have birthdays. He is going to get too big to hang out in the bathroom with me while I pee. Too big to take a shower with me when we are in a hurry. Too big to want to sit on my lap while he eats his dessert at night. Too big for me to lift. Too big to share a swing at the park.
Sometimes I think I am going to go nuts because he follows me from room to room and I often trip over him. But one day he is going to lock himself in his room for hours and ignore me.
One day he will be a man. Possibly taller than me. With a deep voice. And too much hair everywhere. And he is going to be nothing like that 9 pound 13 ounce boy that was handed to me screaming and covered in my blood.
It is interesting to consider what I might blog about when I am turning 50 and Rocco is turning 14. Maybe by then I WILL be freaked out about my age and I will leave poor Rocco alone.
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