Eighteen

I can still remember 0. I can still feel it.

The last trimester was ridiculously painful. I was ‘due’ {whatever ‘due’ means- ‘due to explode’ was what it felt like} on January 10,2009. I had an appointment with my ob the week before so he could check things out. No progress. The nurse I had spoken to before the appointment had told me, after I complained of how miserable I was, that there was a chance I might get my membranes stripped and that might help move me along if I wasn’t making progress on my own. Even after hearing from other mom-to-be’s about how painful it was- at this point I was really ready to try anything.

Pain, people. And I’m not even kidding about the amount of pain I was in. I’m short and there isn’t really a great wealth of room in my body for the size of child my womb was holding. The bad thing is that it wasn’t just me that was uncomfortable. So was Walker. I’m sure of it. We were fighting for control of space. His feet pushing up, up, UP into my chest cavity. Stretching until I really thought it was going to rip. Stretching until the burning pain was so intense I thought I would vomit. So, I went into my appointment with high hopes that my doctor might help me out. FAT CHANCE.

He told me there was no progress and he would see me next week unless I went into labor before then. I looked at him, looked at my husband, and then looked back at him- my eyes full of puppy dog sadness. Clearly the distress was evident on my face because he said, “What do you want me to do?”

I muttered a weak, “I don’t know,” and he went on to explain that there would be no point in trying to induce me because a c-section would be the inevitable outcome of inducing a pregnant woman who wasn’t progressing and wasn’t full term yet. And when he walked out of the room I cried. Then I went to work.

That was 18 months ago.

I can hardly believe that, even as I type it, my son is a toddler. He walks and he runs and he squeals with delight. He claps and he stomps and climbs on chairs to open doors. He talks. He talks back. ‘No’ is his favorite word of right now. Well, ‘no’ and ‘cookie’. If he would just put those two words together, we might just get along swimmingly.

So, he had his 18 month well-child check up a few days ago. The results of which were:

1) Walker is now in the 75th percentile for his height. (An interesting jump from the 53rd percentile last visit.)

2) Walker should be drinking from a cup with no lid.

3) It is time to start potty training.

4) We should be reading to Walker every day.

A cup with no lid? Puh-lease. The kid has already figured out how to get the lids off some of his cups and when he does- hey howdy with the liquid mess. All uncontrolled liquids are meant for splashing. So, just..no. The reading we do when I can get him to sit still long enough- which is NOT every single day. But he talks and he knows a few basic signs and we’re working on it and Lord have MERCY! He’s still a baby isn’t he??!! Isn’t he? Why do these people want my baby to be a man already?

I had been planning on attempting the potty training anyway. But just hadn’t got around to it yet. Where ‘hadn’t got around to it yet’ really means that I realized that potty training takes my baby boy to big boy status. I’m just not ready. I know this is selfish. I know I can’t hold my son back based on how much I want him to be my little baby forever. Because he can’t. We can’t freeze this moment so we must be present in it. So, it was with reluctance that I picked up his big boy potty seat. *sniff*

Today he’s 18 months, tomorrow it’ll be 18 years. And that sucks a lot. So now I have to make a vow. A promise to myself and to my boy.

I will schedule my work/school in such a way that I allow time for my family. I will NOT continue to think about what I should be doing or need to be doing or could be doing when I am blessed enough to be able to spend time with my very amazing family. I will be present in the moment- wherever that moment is because 18 is not as far away as it looks.