This week Sherman started sitting independently.
I have never been very sad or nostalgic when Ruby hits milestones; I have always been excited and enthused at her new abilities and independence. I never wished to go back to her baby days. But for some reason recently, as Sherman grows bigger and starts doing things like eating foods (boy lives on a steady diet of milk and cheerios, I’m afraid I’m turning him into his father) and sitting independently, I find myself feeling very differently. I find myself with a desire to blubber and moan about how he’s my widdle baby boy and who said he could get so big and sit and start eating and I want to moan and sob and cry and…
Seriously, where did my sweet baby newborn boy go? Wasn’t be born, like, yesterday? Why can’t he go back to being content to snuggle and sleep all the time; why does he have to want to play with toys and interact with other things and people?
I don’t try to understand the complex emotions that go with motherhood. I just go with them. And sniff a few times as my baby boy grows up.