Wednesday, October 14, 2009

And so it goes....

So, it has finally happened and I am bereft at some points and yet oddly vacant at others.  Yes, the first of many fissures in the mother-child bond has occured...Winston is in his own room, in his own bed. 

No longer is my baby boy sleeping next to me.   In fact, for the first time in over two years he is neither inside me nor beside me all night long.  No longer can I either feel or hear his rustling sleepy movements.  No longer can I listen to his breathing when sleep eludes me.  No longer can I merely run my hands over my belly or glance over to the crib right next to my side of the bed to see, to know, that he is well, happy, secure and soundly sleeping.

Of course, on the other hand, no longer am I awakened at 3, 4, 5 a.m to his plaintive cries of  "Mama.  Mama.  Up. Up."  And no longer do I succumb and drag him into bed with me so that he can sleep sprawled across my chest, elbow wedged into my adam's apple, snoring contentedly while I lay there vainly trying to breathe.  For hours. 

But still, all in all, it is a loss.  And as his his nature, he took to the change easily and happily.  No fuss, no muss is Winston's motto in life.  That very first night he merely settled himself down to bed in his new room as though he had been doing it all his little life. No fears, no apprehensions - just time to sleep, thank you very much and see you in the morning Mama.  I on the other hand curled up in my own bed crying, missing my boy, my beautiful little boy who had, until then, never ever been apart from me before at night.

And so begins his long voyage through life seperate from me.  I'm sure it doesn't help that he has also decided to wean at precisely the same moment as he gained his night time autonomy.  My boy.  No fuss, no muss for him, maybe - but Mama is missing her boy right now.

Sleep tight little one.  Mama loves you.


  1. Congratulations. So many more adieus there will be, and this is small compared to ones to come, so fret not! And now you will be rested, and you and your husband will have each other back, and you can read at night, and you can move and breathe at your leisure; you will relish it more than you can know, I'm sure.

    But even now, the fact that Norah one day lived off my breast like we were made of the same flesh and blood and five days later (after a trip away) removed her mouth from it like she had just tasted a piece of rotting fruit -- at that moment never again to have any desire to return to it -- still makes me gaze off in sorrow at times. There are moments I want nursing back so much. And the funny thing is, she does too, but she cannot bring herself to actually put her mouth to my breast. We've moved beyond that.

    And it's hard, too, to know (my husband's parts being snipped) that I will never have this joy again with any baby. That, too, is a sadness I live with. Until he'd actually done the deed, I didn't realize how much I held it open as a possibility for me . . . .

  2. I continue to hold open the foolish and risky as that may be. But I just cannot bring myself to close that door, to actually admit there will not be another fair haired, blue eyed babe joining our family.

    But realistically, I know that our family is complete. And so every transition, every sign of growth and autonomy that the baby (not so much a baby anymore, but a real little guy) shows absolutely rips my heart. And he wants to grow up so fast so he can do all the things his big brother can just see the desire to be a big boy too practically oozing out of his every pore.

    Ironic isn't it? With the first child you celebrate and anticipate every little developmental sign that they are progressing, yet with the last child you experience loss and sadness watching the very same signs of progress and development.

    I miss my baby. Yet I adore the boy he is becoming.

  3. Ironic, yes indeed. And how much more fleeting the growth seems with the second!

    I remember when Kieran was just an infant looking at little kids in the age group of my kids now (3 and 6 and even younger, like 18 months), and thinking that while they might be cute to parents, they did nothing for me. It was the rare toddler/kid that didn't strike me as a spoiled, selfish brat. Babies on the other hand, always appeared to me more lovable in their total helplessness and innocence. But being a mother of older children now, it is shocking how my adoration, which at any given time seems incapable of getting any more intense, in fact grows as my kids grow and their little beings become richer and richer sources of delight for me. How I hope it continues this way! I dread the teen years when -- I'm warned by mother friends -- kids supposedly have the opposite effect on their parents.

    The sheer wonder of kids trying to grow up! It's spectacular.

    But enough raving. Time to go to bed now. I've got the kids alone this weekend as Jeff is out of town. On Sunday night i won't be talking like this, I'm sure.

  4. I'm single parenting until the middle of next week, so I feel your pain....