Slow Down, Little Guy: Missing the Baby Years With My Youngest

Friends, when you have little kids, how often do you wish they would just hurry up and grow? I wished it plenty with our late baby… Finally walking, finally out of diapers, finally able to tell us what hurts, finally sleeping through the night… The first months and years are insanely sweet, and they're exhausting too. Round-the-clock care, too little sleep, a kid on your hip at all times. And how often do we hear, “It gets easier when they're older.” In a lot of ways, that's true (and in other ways, not at all, right?).

For me, the first year with a baby was always the hardest: so many emotions, so many overwhelming moments, so much love, so little sleep, such a huge change for my body. The first milestone for me was always when I could stand the kids up without them toppling over. That was total relief in everyday life. As in, setting the kid down next to the car so I could load the grocery bags into the trunk. Not having a kid on my arm or lying on the floor nonstop? I loved it.

And of course first words and potty training are incredible milestones that made our lives easier. So is sleeping through the night, though I can't cheer about that one yet with my youngest, because number four still doesn't sleep through the night. That's very different from his big siblings, who had been doing it for ages by age three (and not sleeping through the night at 44 hits differently than it does at 30!)

But here's what I do much better with my youngest than I did with the older ones: I can be in the moment so much more, and I can accept all these big and small challenges so much more easily. Because I know it gets better, and because I know he's my last. This time, instead of “Just grow up already,” I probably feel a lot more of “Don't grow up so fast!”

My youngest isn't a baby anymore

Over the past few weeks, I've looked at my youngest several times and said: Wow, look at everything he can do already. And look how big he is. Can time please slow down?

Suddenly he looks so huge when he's asleep, and everything baby-like is gone. He flies around on his balance bike like the wind and wants to learn to ride a real bike as soon as possible. He tells stories about lava, dinosaurs, and volcanoes, about flying into space on rockets or chasing robbers with the police. All of a sudden he sings along to lines from songs his siblings listen to. He asks a good friend if he can come over for a sleepover. He sits there so casually at the dinner table, putting away pizza like a big kid.

And me? I feel a pang right around my heart. Stay little just a bit longer. Keep loving me this unconditionally, keep slipping your small hand into mine. I don't want to be pregnant again, and I don't want another newborn (although… just ONE more day with a newborn…). But I really, truly love still having a little kid, a daycare kid with all the parties, outings, and craft projects (and yes, the viruses too, I know…).

Three-year-olds are just so darn cute. And funny. And no matter how big and old he gets, he'll probably always be a little bit my baby. The other day, I was putting his pajamas on him fresh out of the bath, and the pants were too short again. I said, “When did you get so big? You're my baby.” He answered, “I'm not a baby, I'm already big. Not really big, but not really little either!” And that was exactly it. Not a baby anymore, not little anymore, but (thank goodness) not big yet, either.

As much as I love my teenagers, and as hard as the early days with my youngest sometimes were, hearing a three-year-old fresh out of the bath say, “Mommy, you're sooooo sweet!” might just be the biggest gift you can get…