I've been feeling the itch to write lately. Coupled with the fact that so many people have started to come back to blogging, posting about how they miss it, my feed has been a constant rolling announcement of "I'm coming back". I kept thinking, that I want to be back. I miss it. Not one to just jump on the bandwagon because all of the "cool" kids are doing it, I more like to consider this a sign of where I should be. I mean, if I was really over it, I would have stopped checking my feed.
I haven't quite figured out how to do the whole "back to blogging" thing, while still maintaining the privacy of my sweet baby boy. I mean, that's why I went AWOL in the first place. I could barely throw a post together, but now I was supposed to watermark, and protect pictures, and approve requests to follow from people, hoping they didn't steal all of the information. It's a crazy world out there. I may just keep pictures of him off here. I may figure out how to post some things, while still maintaining his safety. I continue to keep him off Facebook and limit my Instagram followers to friends and close family so they can see him there. It's terrible that it has all come to this. That I can't post a picture of my son without wondering if someone is going to view it with malintent.
But, I digress. That's not why I'm here.
I'm here because I just posted a novela as my Facebook status because I was so overcome with emotion halfway through that I needed to keep writing. Yeah... that's not what Facebook is for. I'm pretty sure they used to have a character limit, and it was for people like me, who want to drone on and on whilst crying into their phone, their tears messing up the touch screen causing it to autocorrect to asinine things.
Here's what happened...
The last time I posted about Baby J, he was four months. So... that was 13 months ago. Babies tend to do this strange thing called "growing", and they do it A LOT over 13 months. I mean... I tried not feeding him, knocking him down when he was trying to move, etc. but the dang kid just kept thriving. He's now a walking, running, talking, crazy little man who has his own personality and wants and needs in the world. He is absolutely hands down THE most amazing thing that Alex and I have done with our lives. We are constantly amazed with how much he learns and how quickly he picks things up. His vocabulary is exploding and he is quick as a whip. He started daycare about a month ago and let's just say that while the weekly bill makes me want to crawl under my desk in the fetal position, we are definitely getting out monies worth.
For most of his life, Baby J has practically transitioned himself. It's just what he has done. Sleeping in his crib, drinking out of a sippy cup, eating real food, he just decided when he was ready (long before I was ready, but when I at least had it on the horizon that I would start trying), and just like that, he was done.
At his 12 month appointment, his doctor told me to get rid of the binky and the bottles. At this point he was only having a bottle in the morning when he woke up and right before bed. Alex cuddles with him in the morning. I cuddle with him at night. WE weren't ready to give it up.
At his 15 month appointment, his doctor told me to get rid of the binky and the bottles. I was coming around to the idea of the bottles, but knew we were going on vacation and then he was starting daycare so I wasn't going to rock the boat. And the binky thing, we are cool with... for now...
Let me take a side road on the binky here. I don't plan on my kid being 4 still walking around with a binky in his mouth. I believe it is totally up to each parent/child/family when it is right for you to get rid of it, and as along as they don't show up to their first day of high school with it, I call it a win. Right now, he sleeps with it (but doesn't wake up if he loses it) and he uses it to calm himself down. He doesn't have the verbal skills or the cognition to work through why he is upset sometimes. Sometimes he is just hungry, and tired, and over it. So, when he's losing it, he grabs his binky and his blankie, and calms himself down. Which I think is amazing. So that's our stance on the bink.
Anyway... coming up on his 18 month appointment, I knew it was time for his bottles to go. I made the decision that next Monday, August 31st would be the day. Cold turkey. No more bottles.
Except... for the past couple days, he hasn't wanted them. Not in the morning. Not at night. Refuses. Last night, he politely pushed the bottle away, said, "no no", gave me a good snuggle, and then went to bed. This morning, I gave him a sippy cup with milk and he was happy as a pig in slop.
But, I wasn't ready. I was ready for THIS Monday. I was ready for Sunday night, to sit with him in his chair, like I have done every night since he was born. Give him his bottle. Rock him. And have a little moment as my baby, once again, gives up one of his "baby" things.
I can't remember his last bottle. I don't know if it was Sunday or Monday. Morning or night. Was I rushing? Was I trying to get him to go to sleep so I could do one of the 8,000 things I need to do after bedtime? Did I not even have him? Was Alex the last one to give him a bottle? Did he get to suck up every last ounce of this "baby" thing? I don't know. I can't remember. It made me cry a little, surprisingly. I mean... I know that this is AMAZING. Some people have to fight and fight and fight transitions, and he rocks them. But he's my baby.
I have a whole box of his tiny baby things. Some I have saved for future baby(s). Some are just in a box because I can't throw them away yet. His tiny baby bottles. From when he was so little. His itty bitty baby binkys. The ones he found and tried to use, and then giggled like he knew that those were for tiny babies and he is a big guy.
It goes so fast. I just didn't think I would get so emotional over something so little as his bottle, but here I am. Sitting at my desk. Crying. My little man is growing up and it is beautiful. Beautiful, and amazing, and wonderful, and a little sad. He will never be that tiny little baby anymore. That tiny baby on those cold nights, bundled up with my in a blanket in his rocking chair, at 3 in the morning, just me and him, drinking a bottle, and rocking back to sleep. It felt like there was no one else in the entire world at the moment, it was just me and him.
Oh man, this Mama business is tough work. I mean, let's not even talk about the emotional strain of all the WORRY! Is he OK? Will he get hurt? Am I keeping him safe? Etc. etc. etc. But the emotions that go along with the GOOD are just as strong and overwhelming sometimes. It is not for the faint of heart.
So, now I'll pack up all of his bottles. And put them with the rest. Maybe I'll throw them away. Maybe I'll put them on a shelf until I'm ready to let them go. He may be done with them, but I'm not quite there yet. His Mama isn't quite as good at transitions as he is. It's obviously something he got from his father. But, I'm learning. I'm trying. For him. My big guy.