I remember the moment I realized my son was no longer a baby.

I was watching him pull himself up on the couch and attempt to walk its length. He made noises as if he could talk, and when he got to the end of the couch he grabbed the toy he was after and stuffed it into his mouth.

I howled, “Great job, Julien! Way to go.”

Then I looked at him, standing on his little legs, all stretched out. He was nine months old. I thought, “He’s not a baby any more. He’s on his way to toddlerhood.”

Something in me felt sad.

This happened again, recently. At two and a half years old, our son must have had a growth spurt. Suddenly, his one-piece pajamas don’t quite fit him anymore. His body reaches almost to the full length of his crib, much of the baby fat on his face is gone, and he’s become taller and more slender. I watched him pretending to cook with pots and pans and realized, “Oh, my God. He’s not a toddler any more! He’s a kid.”

Again, something in me felt sad.

Three months ago he was sucking on his pooh bear. Today, he’s trying to feed it, put it to bed, and set it on the potty. A few months ago he whined for what he wanted. Now he says, “Please, Mama,” and “Please, Papa.” He knows how to operate the TV control, drink from a cup, and pull his pants down to sit on the potty. Watching his progress and seeing his personality deepen has been exciting. My husband and I are filled with exhilaration and joy.

As he reaches a new milestone, he leaves an old one behind.

I am sad for the loss of the old.

Every moment now is cherished; knowing that each moment counts. I snuggle him close to my heart, feel the warmth of his soft skin and bathe in that, just as I used to bathe in the scent of his hair as a baby.

I remind myself, “I am lucky to have this. Life is really, really good.”

By Cindy Bailey

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