Bye Mommy!

This morning was the first morning, ever, that I told Andy I was leaving for work and he was 100% okay with it.  Usually, when he's aware that I'm leaving, he screams and cries and calls out for me mournfully as if we are going to be separated on two different islands until the end of time.  He cries as if my island will have the television, juice boxes, and squeezable yogurt tubes (best and worst invention ever) and his island will have nothing but toothbrushes, nail clippers, and other instruments of grooming/ torture.

This morning, I told him I was leaving, we hugged each other, and he said bye calmly.  Then, as I was walking into the kitchen to grab my purse, from his spot in the family room he called out cheerily one more time, "Bye, Mommy!" and waved.  And my heart just about broke into a million pieces.  I guess after all the complaining about the rough mornings and the impossible good-byes, now that I've gotten my smooth departure, I'm feeling a little sad and unwanted.  Andy, Andy, Andy- how could you be so calm about a Bye Mommy??  Are you angry at me?  Do you not love me anymore?  Shouldn't you be attached to my leg, screaming up at me in need, simultaneously being both awful and wonderful- the squeezable yogurt tube of toddlerdom?

Perhaps it's the hormones of pregnancy making me feel this way.  Or maybe it's just how mothers come to feel- a little bit depressed when their babies are suddenly okay with saying good-bye.

It is suddenly, abruptly clear to me that Andy is not a baby anymore.  It's not just that I have another baby on the way, and that Andy will be relegated to the mature-sounding ranks of "big brother."  It's him.  This weekend, I started noticing how tall he is.  He is one tall 22 month old.  And I say "tall," not "long," which is how height is measured when they are babies.  At what point does long become tall?  When they start standing?  When they take their first steps?  When they take their first steps AWAY from their mothers and off into the big, wide world of casual good-byes, preparing their own meals, and occasional recreational gun and/or drug use?

It might also be all the words Andy is saying as of late- or the fact that, even when he's babbling, it's very clear that he's trying to communicate something clear and firm to me.  I know this because the babbling gets repeated and stressed and is accompanied by insistent pointing at something in the distance that I'm just not seeing.  He has become this person with a need to be understood and actual, tangible demands.  Bananas.  Juice.  Bath.  No bath.  Elmo.  No Elmo, Mickey.  That.  That, there in the distance.  No, THAT.  THAT.  Listen, lady, can't you see what I'm pointing to?  IT'S THAT, YOU INSENSITIVE MONSTER, WHY CAN'T YOU JUST HAND ME THAT??!!

It could also be the hair cut.  Without his out of control, out of this world slop head of curls, he suddenly looks more like a little man and less like an unkempt baby.  Maybe I should have delayed that first hair cut another six months or so, until I was ready and/or DCFS was sending me letters about the state of his head.

The actions of Andy are increasingly less baby-ish and more kid-like.  He plays like a kid, throwing balls and running after dogs and initiating games of hide and seek.  He is less interested in stupidly shaking blocks like an infant and more interested in being involved in actual games, even if he is not the ideal game playing partner due to a non-interest in taking turns, following rules, or understanding that good sportsmanship does not involve throwing yourself onto the ground and banging the floor with your fists and feet.  At least, not usually.

He's also been very empathetic lately during our nightly story time, growing visibly upset when unpleasant things happen to either the characters or the cars in the books.  Last night, we read a story about sheep driving a jeep, and they end up crashing the jeep.  When that jeep got totaled, Andy just about lost it, crying out "uh oh!" and "oh no!" and "not nice!" and "car?"  The full sentiment there being "What the heck just happened to that car?  Was that sheep driving the jeep licensed and insured?  Was he texting?  Will they be able to get a replacement vehicle?  How could this awful thing have happened?"

These are the emotions of a child, not a baby.  A couple months ago, Andy wouldn't have given a crap about what happened to the jeep.  And a year ago, Andy wouldn't have been paying attention at all.  But, somewhere along the way, the reading became less something that I felt I should be doing for a baby who had zero interest in books and became, almost within the span of a day, a nightly ritual that was 100% for and enjoyed by Andy.  Something that he actually looked forward to, an activity that he requested as opposed to me just doing.

Andy's love of story time is a trait that I cherish.  Reading is very important to me, and having a kid interested in reading is very, very important.  So, in most ways, this turn of events is very joyous. On the other hand, coupled with all of the other things that are turning him from my baby into a little man who is not my baby, I suppose I only have this to say:  Waaaaaaa.

Yes, there is a part of me that wants Andy to be a baby forever.  I know I'm having another baby and I need Andy to continue to grow up as I deal with the trials, tribulations, excitement, and joy of my new infant- but I don't want to say good-bye to Baby Andy quite yet, either.  I'm getting a little teary just thinking about it.  

There are so many Baby Andy moments that I won't get back, and as he grows, I know I'll gain tons of other great moments- but there is so much inherent loss in raising a child, too.  And it's all exhibited in a simple, happy, "Bye Mommy!" on an otherwise average Monday morning.

Well, I guess that's why I'm having more than one.  Or at least one of the reasons.  The other being in case Andy doesn't have enough money to fund our retirement, then maybe Baby #2 will.  You can't put all of your eggs in one basket, now can you?  Didn't think so.