For months now, our son has been wishing his teeth away. With a mouth full of baby teeth, he watches his big sister collect her tooth money and grabs his teeth with his fingers saying, “I think it’s wiggly.” No, child. It is not wiggly. Not at all. It was solid as a rock no matter how hard he’d try to move it. And I was glad because every time I’d think about him losing a tooth, I’d get weepy. “Oh, please don’t lose your teeth,” I’d joke with him like he had any say in the matter when it came to losing baby teeth. And he’d reply, “Ohhh mommy.”
I am a person who loves the moment so much that I miss it before it’s gone and as the second child, he is the terminator of all moments baby. When he stopped drinking from a bottle, he was the last kid I would have that drank from a bottle. When he learned to walk, he was the last baby I’d have to carry and cradle. Baby teeth meant that I still, in one small way, had a baby.
I look at pictures of our girl from just a couple of years ago, and she’s a different kid. Her face has changed—morphed from a baby face to a kid face—like her new teeth gave way to a real kid. She looks so much older and the nostalgia of “when she was young” is thick and overwhelming for my heart. But I still have him, with his cute little baby teeth, and I just don’t want him looking older yet.
But the truth is if not yet then when? Are moms ever really ready? Being a mom is such an exercise in living in the middle space. We wait for the day they can get their own damn cereal on Saturday mornings and then cry when they can get their own damn cereal and don’t need our help. How many times—when they were babies—did I look forward to the day when they would bathe themselves, feed themselves, and wipe themselves?
And now… here I am. They can bathe themselves, feed themselves, and wipe themselves and while I don’t want to go back to wiping butts (nostalgia can have that one), it makes me hyper-aware that time isn’t slowing down; if anything, it’s moving faster. I find myself on the other side now. No longer looking forward to “when they will be able to” but rather looking back and wishing I could have all that time back.
Of course, people told me all this when I was a new mom and I believed them then but I couldn’t grasp it at that time; I was just trying to survive and take a shower. It’s impossible to know then what you know now: that every moment is beautiful and fading.
I catch myself often trying to memorize the way they are right now—the way my daughter throws her head back when she laughs or the way my son instinctually still reaches for my hand when we’re walking and it seems fleeting like any day will be the last time he holds my hand.
You’ll try to remember but the moments are many. One phase takes over the other without warning. You don’t realize it’s gone until the next phase rolls in quietly. And before you’ve had time to grieve playing cars, you’ll be a soccer mom. Before you grieve Hide n’ Seek, they’re going to school dances. The games they used to play, the songs they used to love, are memories—stored away in a deep part of your heart.
So I try to live in those right now moments—right now—because who knows what time will be the last time.
It’s inevitable.
Like losing your baby teeth.
The other day, he showed me how wiggly his tooth was. This time for real. He went back to his TV show and then ran back to the kitchen holding it. The first baby tooth had fallen out. Of course, his dad and I oooh-ed and aaah-ed over it, excitedly asking to see it. He felt like a big kid, his face a mix of bliss and pride. He was so full of joy that even with the bloody hole in his mouth, his smile was beaming.
I hugged him so hard and jokingly sobbed, “Your first tooth?! Didn’t I tell you not to lose your baby teeth? You’re getting so big.” —like he had any say in the matter.
And like clockwork, he replied, “Oh mommy.” He smirked and hugged me and I lived in that hug for the moment I had it.
P.S. When I dumped naptime (as seen in Scary Mommy) and at what age should kids move out?
