The pull between being a baby and being a big boy is fascinating. One second the youngest is saying he is ready for school because “he’s bigger.” The next minute he’s correcting me for calling him a big boy, saying “I’m a little boy.”
He wavers between wanting to be just like his big brothers and still wanting to be babied. He can’t decide. And I’m just as conflicted as he is.
I want my little guy to be potty trained and be a big boy–c’mon we’ve been dealing with diapers for 6 years now. Of course I do. But I also want him to be my baby. I want to stop time and freeze him in all his sweet, innocent perfection right now when he still wants to climb into my lap, and have me carry him and he still wants to hold my hand.
But then again, this sleeping through the night thing is pretty nice. And dressing himself. And actually telling me what he wants/what hurts/why he is screaming at the top of his lungs. And someday we won’t need three car seats and there will be sleep overs (at someone else’s house) and I’ll have time to read a book and..
Well, it’s not like we have a choice anyway. Can’t stop the clock. He’s growing up whether I like it or not. Might as well embrace it. Besides, he’ll always be my baby–whether he likes it or not.
