Jake had his 8th birthday yesterday and though I spent a lot of time executing traditional birthday efforts and a few that are special for us, you might as well thought it was a milestone birthday for me that I did not want to hit. My mother said my Dad spent his 30th birthday in bed. Not one for drama, I spent mine having cake with the boys, so I think I took it pretty well.
But Jake's 8th birthday was hard on me. Seems to me that he's completely through the first third of the time I'm responsible to get him to full adult hood (including college) and he'll soon be doing things and going places independently. This is an exciting time for him and I'm pleased, so far, with the work I've done.
Harrison will be 5 this year. Harrison works the TV, my AppleTv to play music, the Wii....all on his own. He "fixes" his own breakfast, does laundry, lets Moe out and can dress himself completely. I woke up this morning, in peace, Harrison fully sufficient to entertain, clothe and feed himself. Its an amazing feeling to have time to myself again, without the demands of babies dictating the direction of how my time is spent.
But why is it that I look at their baby pictures with that sense of longing for chubby cheeks, toothless grins, their smells, their bald heads, itty bitty shoes and somehow wish I could relive that time with them? I hated it at the time, but mostly the sleepless nights, the illnesses that make you feel powerless, the crying, the complete dependency......all those things that eventually you forget about in favor of the cuteness, the sweetness, the innocence.
Having an 8 year old makes me feel old...........but not old enough have outgrown the longing for another one.........
If you know me....you think I've gone nuts. If you don't, you're probably inappropriately going "oooh, how sweet."
No, not sweet. I've gone nuts.