Push and Pull

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about how MJ is growing up. Those first three years inched by slowly, sometimes painfully so. But now that he's four, I can see Big Kid Land looming on the horizon and it's racing closer everyday.

Nearly every vestige of babyhood is gone. He not only wears underpants 24/7, but he can use the toilet completely by himself….even at 3 a.m.. He drinks from a real cup, can be trusted with real silverware, and has been known to dress himself. He let his beloved binky go gracefully and he's starting to look a little cramped in his crib-turned-toddler-bed. Even his chubby cheeks are slowly slimming down as baby fat gives way to boyish good looks.

And so I find myself clinging to the last remnants of life with my first baby: relishing the few words he still mispronounces, sneaking in as many midnight snuggles as he'll give me, and grinning instead of groaning when he lodges himself into my suddenly too small lap for yet another storybook.

To be honest, it's caught me a bit by surprise. While I always wanted to be a mother, I was never the type of woman who wistfully longed after babies. I don't have a way with newborns and I often found early motherhood more suffocating than magical. This whole new found sentimentality feels both foreign and fitting, rather like the first time you touch your newborn child. And the irony of it all makes me smile.

Now more than ever I can feel the push and pull of motherhood. The freedom and spontaneity of an older child is so close, there are moments that I feel myself rushing toward it. But as soon as I stand there on that brink, I lose my nerve – suddenly aware of what I will lose.

PUSH…..

Please just go play by yourself so I can have a moment of peace.

PULL…..

Come snuggle with me in bed for a bit, while you still fit in my arms.

PUSH….

Go get dressed. I know you can do it by yourself.

PULL….

Come let me zip your sweater up, while you still need me.

PUSH…..

Hurry up, let's get you to preschool to burn off some energy on someone else's watch.

PULL….

Let's stay home all Tuesday morning and make forts in our PJ's, while we still can.

Push him away. Pull him back. Push toward tomorrow. Pull back to right now. It never occurred to me that my son could feel it, too. Silly me.

"Mommy, will you be sad when I am big?" He asked me, out of the blue.

"No," I answer honestly.

"But would you like me to stay little?"

"I will always love you just the way you are," I tell him, kissing the top of his head.

He looks up at me with his big brown eyes and impossibly long eyelashes and furrows his brow. He says nothing, but I can tell he is asking for more.

"But I can't stop growing. I have to get bigger like Daddy," he tells me.

"I know, you are already getting so big."

"Are you sad?" He asks again.

"No," I pause and look at him. "But I will miss it…."

He stops and thinks for a few moments before speaking again.

"I will miss it, too, Mommy. Because when I am big, you can't hold me anymore. And I will be sad."

His sincerity stuns me. And for a minute, I'm not sure what to say. Because in all the moments I've spent wondering what it would be like when he's grown, what I will miss, and what emotions I will experience, I never stopped to consider how he would feel. I never imagined he would notice the passing of time, much less care or be mournful for it. But there in my kitchen, surrounded by Legos and Tonka trucks, he was.

I can't remember if I laughed or cried next but I'm pretty sure I did both. And as I knelt down to give him a hug, I squeezed his cheek and patted his squishy little bum the way I know he won't allow me to do much longer.

"Yes, that is true," I say softly. "But you will never, ever be too big for me to love you. Or for my hugs and kisses."

I pick him up for a moment and it takes more effort than I expect. I realize it's been a few days since I held him and far longer since I've carried him for any distance. His legs hang well past my knees and I can't comfortably stand with him in my arms for long. Someday soon, the last time will come.

MJ suddenly smiles and breaks free of my embrace, bouncing to the floor below me.

"Oh! I fink I'm going to be sooooo big like an excabator! And I will SMASH and BASH fings!" He shouts, whirling in circles until he knocks a set of plastic cups, napkins, and the day's mail onto the floor.

And just like that, he is simply four again. And it's perfectly fine with me.