From Pacifiers to Peer Pressure: The Swift Shift of Childhood
Luckily for me, I still have a baby in the house. I watch her run and play, stomp and jump—and glance over at the couch, where the older girls now sit. Just yesterday, they too were filled with the wild abandon and innocence of a toddler, knowing nothing about the world except the immediate and graceful way it rose to meet their needs. Now they sit with noses buried in books or lost in Nintendo games I don’t even understand, barking orders and stomping every time they’re asked to help with a chore.
I imagine that, to them, I’ve become the ogre—no longer the coolest mom on the block. I notice that I often speak to them with frustration, disappointed in their attitudes, desperate to teach them the right way to be. Maybe their detachment stems from the fact that they, too, would give anything to go back. Already they carry responsibility, homework, expectations, and peer pressure—life has become a series of obligations. As they wake up each morning to a full plate, I find myself longing for the bouncy toddlers with dragging diapers who used to greet me with smiles. I miss making bottles and pancakes, lying on the floor playing blocks until they got sleepy. I miss the way they rushed into my arms like a hug from me was a treasured prize. Now, I drop them off at school, watching the van door slam shut behind them as they rush off with barely a glance back. My babies are growing up.
As I drive away, I catch a glimpse in the rearview mirror—another baby, singing some silly song I recorded on DVD. Her eyes, so innocent and joyful, are just like her sisters’ once were. I wish I could hold her every single moment. When we get home, she’ll run into my arms and settle in my lap as I try to work. For a few minutes, I’ll be irritated—distracted by everything I’m not getting done. And then I’ll glance at the photo in my living room of the other girls, back when they were still small with lifetimes of dreams ahead of them. On the adjacent wall hang their school pictures—taken just this year. The same girls. The same eyes. Just older.
It makes me wonder how it happened so fast. While I was living it, each day felt like an eternity. Now, all these years have passed, and I realize with certainty: my babies are growing up.
From where I sit in a sunbeam, I notice the fall leaves beginning to drop from the trees outside my window. The evolution of life is in constant motion. It’s still warm, but I know the cold is coming. Soon, it will be Christmas. And this year, one fewer child in our home will believe in Santa. I imagine myself up late on Christmas Eve, quietly wiping away tears that fall on the plate of cookies we left out for him. I’ll look ahead to spring and find myself with yet another set of school photos to hang on the wall. The pictures will confirm what my heart already knows but tries each day to deny…
My babies are (most definitely and quickly) growing up.
