Prior to 2010, I had six children. I marveled in their accomplishments. I enjoyed watching them grow and hit developmental milestones. Then in 2010, I gave birth to my seventh child. For personal reasons, I knew that he would be my last child. Not only was this baby my last child but also my only son. He was my last chance to watch the milestones and accomplishments.
I cried when he wanted only a sippy cup at 9 months old. I cried when he uttered his first words and took his first steps. Then, almost overnight he went from first steps to all out running. I cried when he wanted nothing to do with baby food but wanted table food from the beginning. I wasn't ready for him to grow up.
I'm still not ready. Yesterday he went to his drawers and brought me an outfit. Pants, shirt and undies. And it all matched. He matched his clothes better at 2.5 years old than my 5 year olds do. I wanted to cry. He's not my baby much anymore. He's growing up into a smart and attentive boy. He counted to 5 for me. He has a fascination with gluing objects. And when I gave him a "fun" assignment to do while I taught the girls, he did better drawing than they did. He sings from memory. And a few months ago, he was doing this:
He was playing Angry Birds on my Kindle. AND BEATING LEVELS! He is so grown. I ask him if he's Mama's Baby and he says "No! I CJ!" And when I tell him he'll always be my baby, he reluctantly says "OK." But, he still hugs and kisses on mommy so I guess I am safe. For now.
Why does the youngest always grow up the fastest? Why can't I savor every moment of him being the baby? Sometimes I don't think it's fair how fast any of them grow but especially the last. He'll be 3 in February. He'll probably be acting like he's 6 by then....