Under My Nose, In Front of My Eyes, Within My Heart: A Prepositional Epiphany

There are moments in every parent’s life in which they take a split-second, look at their child, and see that they are no longer a “baby”. It goes beyond the obvious things like when they outgrow certain clothing or reach particular milestones dictated by pediatric checklists. It’s when they lose that irresistible pudginess on the top of their little feet. It’s when you stretch them across the changing table and notice that they are longer than the changing pad. It’s when they get a haircut and look more like a “little boy” rather than a “little kid”. It’s when they do things like twirl spaghetti around their fork. It’s when they actually say the word “spaghetti “ instead of “psghettis”…

Since Ryan’s arrival 16 weeks ago (hard to believe it’s already been that long!), so much attention and conversation has been focused on what this little guy has been doing. How is he sleeping at night? How is nursing going? Does he get in a lot of tummy time? Is he still spitting up a lot? (And to answer all of the above in brief: He’s a trooper, It’s going, As much as he can when I remember, and Yes.) It is easy to marvel at the milestones such a tiny human being can accomplish in such a short amount of time. Each time we get a GIANT gummy grin or he holds his head high, I can’t help but look to that beautiful portrait of me holding my 48-hour old newborn in the hospital and see the changes—both physically and ability-wise-- that have already taken place.

Whereas he used to find comfort in wrapping his monkey-like fingers around one of mine, he now loves to suckle on his own thumb that is no longer than inch. The amniotic puffiness of his face is now full-fledged healthy chub, flush with warmth and breastfed goodness. Instead of resembling more of my side of the family, he is now “Caiden with Dark Hair”. He can focus in on features near and far and smiles instantaneously when he realizes it is me or his daddy or big brother in the room. He thinks that when we “eat up” his belly it is hysterical and doing baby pushups isn’t nearly as exhausting as they used to be. He becomes fascinated with that the lil’ guy in the mirror and agrees that he pretty darn cute, too. He can reach and grab objects in front of or above him and loves to explore each by shoving them into his mouth. His Big Brother is already an idol to him and can elicit coos and funny fits of happy fist pumps. (To say that is a joy and blessing watching these two together is an absolute understatement.) Bath time is a delight and, given the way that he kicks and splashes, I wouldn’t be surprised if a love of swimming is in his future. Or soccer. Or karate. Or River Dancing.

And all the while, as Ryan entranced and awed us with his spit-bubble blowing and sing-songy “conversations”, another miraculous state of growth was taking place with our older child. It is amazing how much transformation can occur with your first-born once a younger one is introduced. The birth of his little brother has not only provided Caiden with a best friend, but with a newfound independence and sense of responsibility. (Hard to believe when you consider he is just under 3.) Since his parents are usually physically tied up with a baby in their arms, he relies less on being carried everywhere. He totes along his own belongings and now enjoys the status of being a “big boy”. He selects his own place setting at each meal and loves to open the refrigerator to grab whatever beverage he wants. He knows where to hang his coat and place his shoes once we walk in the door of our home. He loves sharing his toys and games with others, but is just as satisfied with autonomous play and can often be found piecing together elaborate train track formations, completing large puzzles with ease and speed, and is willing to sit and tell me a story by turning the pages and giving me his toddler renditions of current favorites, Green Eggs and Ham, It’s Not Easy Being a Bunny, and Go Dog Go (or as he refers to it, “Go Go Dog”). He has transitioned so beautifully that I have hardly recognized the changes occurring before my own eyes.

It wasn’t until the other day, when Caiden marched around the house in a determined quest to find a screwdriver and “bad-rees” in order to fix his brother’s baby swing that I realized, “He’s so freakin’ smart. Who taught him that? He’s not a toddler anymore. Oh my God. He’s like, a real PERSON now!” Then I continued to just observe and be amazed at this little person who has been under my nose these fleeting 16 weeks. His scribbles now resemble real shapes and rudimentary numbers & letters that he proudly identifies. He loves to point out that there are octagons (stop signs) around town and declares that “green means goooooooooooooooooo!” whenever we are at a traffic light. He puts away his toys as long as you are willing to sing the “clean up” song as he does it. Brushing his teeth is now a game to see who can make their teeth shinier. His ability to play “Memory” is quite impressive (and he is, sadly, actually better than me at it, with the exception of waiting for his next turn). He says things like, “I be back. I pwaw-miss” and runs around scouring for things like a burp cloth when his brother arcs another feeding across the room. He does his best to be tender with Ryan and loves to rub his head, watch a diaper change, sing him lullabies, or get in his face to say “Hi Ry-lee”. He displays empathy. He is creative and imaginative and quite funny. And even though he came out of the womb a “Manley”, somehow he still manages to look more and more like his father each day. He is truly a kind, gentle soul—something that I have always known—but am now, so very proud of. He makes me feel extraordinarily lucky to be his mother.

As our day came to a close at the end of Ryan’s 16^th week on earth, I couldn’t help but notice the two boys’ shoes sitting side by side. The smaller pair, once adorned on Caiden’s tiny feet, showed little marks of wear & tear. The soles were soft and have never actually had someone stand nonetheless walk in them. They seemed so teeny compared to the size 8s that were next to them. Their Velcro embedded with remnants a toddler’s daily adventures—pet hair, dried grass, a speck of mud, a hunk of Play-Doh, a string from God knows what. The topside of the toe areas were worn away from where he stumbled to get someplace, surely in efforts of enthusiasm and novelty of discovering something new. The treads on the bottom are now almost obsolete, as they have traveled to the homes of little friends, the depths of our backyard, the park, the beach, and other “wondrous “destinations as seen from the eyes of a little boy—now recognized as a little kid. It was another one of my moments of being a parent: When I understood that these hours, although they seem so mundane and routine in the throes of daily existence, are truly so precious, so ephemeral, so ever-changing. These days, just like my sweet, beloved, growing little boys, are gifts to be cherished.