When is a rose not a rose?

How he actually looks at 2 years and 9 months old.

This is going to sound more like a birthday post but it’s not. My Jojo turns three in August so I’ve got THREE months left of my sweet baby and then he’ll be…a pre-schooler (which I feel weird calling him as he’s not going to pre-school) (but he’s certainly not a toddler and I’ve been calling him a toddler for a year longer than I should’ve.) (The point I’m trying to make is since no applicable label is actually applicable, I’m just going to keep calling him my baby.)

Problem with calling him my baby, however.

He’s not a baby. Babies don’t make little explosion sounds over his dinner plate when his hands crash together. They don’t decry cute patterned training pants in favor of the plain white ones. They don’t insist on playing I Spy puppet theatre ON THE COMPUTER. Granted my baby doesn’t actually use the mouse but he does point at stuff and asks me or his big sister to click it for him. Babies don’t try to cut their own grilled cheese sandwich. They don’t sing planet songs and ask to read books about the solar system at bed time. They don’t copy all of his sister’s bad habits including suddenly not liking anything we prepare for dinner that isn’t pizza or waffles or toast or baby carrots. They don’t freak out and yell at you for trying to comb their hair and then promptly mess it up. Babies don’t shock their parents with sudden outbursts of coherent sentences like the following:

Jonas: “Mommy garbled toddler speak that I think involves his food.”

Me: “What, sweetie?”

Matt: “He said he’s eating his—“

Jonas: “No! I talking to mommy!”


Matt picks him up and holds him up high so he can reach for the ceiling and he exclaims, “Wow! I’m tall!”

He has opinions on his clothes, his dishes, he insists on brushing his teeth on his own and he’s not just sucking the toothpaste off the brush anymore. He helps unload and load the dishwasher. He likes to put clothes in the washer and dryer. He runs after me at the store with a pleading, “mommy, wait for me!” and his little hand held out for me to hold. He scolds Daisy with a firm, “Down, Daidy!” While I’m making dinner, he’ll sneak his arm around my thigh and look up with his big brown eyes and ask for some of the cheese I’m shredding. He claps his hands twice, holds his arms up and demands, “Mommy, up! Want up!”

It’s his speech that will strike me dumb more than anything else he does. He’s my youngest, my baby and while I sometimes throw things at him that I didn’t with Jaden thinking she was too young, I also underestimate him because in my brain he is my baby and my baby Jonas doesn’t talk. Why shouldn’t he be talking like an actual person? Because babies don’t talk! It’s harder for me now than with Jaden for my brain to accept that he’s growing up. I’m guessing it’s because I know he’s my last child. For some reason I thought that since I have two kids I could escape “The Baby” syndrome that falls on the youngest child.

How I will always see him in my mind at 1 year and 9 months old.

Let my poor little addled mind be a lesson to you: you cannot escape “The Baby” syndrome. No matter how many children you have, you will never believe that your baby can talk or dress themselves or hit a golf ball or ride a bike or read or write or make their own friends or or or.

I’ve got three months to accept that my baby is turning three. I’ve got the rest of my life to not stop calling him my baby.


One Response

  1. Jack is most definitely still my baby. And I think 3 is still a toddler. b,ljnbbvmn

    That last part was from Jack.

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