Sam has decided he wants to be a doctor when he grows up. His latest bedtime book of choice? The Human Body. Tonight we read about the skull and the skeleton. Non-scientific Mommy got to explain that the skull is like a bike helmet that protects your ball-of-Jello brain. I also demonstrated the structural usefulness of bones with a spare sock and the pen on Sam's Magnadoodle. I don't know if I'm confusing him more or not, but his desire to know all about the body is insatiable. He's already made a standing appointment with me for another anatomy lesson tomorrow night (when we'll read about digestion and pelvic bones).
It's funny, because when I was little, I said I wanted to be a doctor, too. The difference was, I just wanted to take care of sick people and make them feel better. I didn't care a whit about how the human body worked. That was of no interest to me whatsoever.
I can see myself in Sam, but at the same time, I'm well aware of the ways he diverges from me, too. In a lot of ways I feel like he is the turbo-charged version of me--the one whose detail-orientedness and persistence will propel him toward success I could never even dream of. And that makes me happy. I hope he's able to harness all his potential into something amazing.
It's hard for me to believe that, come Monday, his preschool days will be over. I don't think I have anything new to say on the subject without descending into cliches. Where has the time gone? My baby's all grown up. I can't believe he's so big. I feel so old.
I'll admit I'm feeling anxious for him. Every time he starts worrying about kindergarten, I can't help but worry along with him, even as I'm telling him it will be all be a wonderful adventure. He seems to already understand that expectations are about to be piled on him--make it or break it expectations--and that he's going to have to grow up fast.
I want to cry with him as he realizes that he's no longer small enough for Mommy's arms to shut the world out. And even though he still wants the comfort of a snuggle, he's getting too big to fit in my lap. I knew this day was going to come, but that doesn't make now any easier.
Kira stopped by today with a friend and her friend's three-month-old baby. He was so tiny and helpless. So new. So easy.
His mother sat feeding him in the quiet of the living room, her arms enveloping him, in one of those peaceful, protective moments of newborn motherhood that I still vaguely remember. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Sam and John were underfoot, loudly racing garbage trucks with Tyler and Zachary, while Kira and I threw their lunches together. The metaphor was not lost on me. Those quiet me-alone-with-my-baby moments are over. I live in a completely different world now. Seeing Sam and John in one room, the newborn in the other, it was hard to believe how much the boys had grown, and how far removed all of us were from those sweet, drowsy baby days.
I think Sam understands this. He's wondering how we got from there to here, too. And his newfound interest in the human body? Like me, he's trying to wrap his brain around that vast world that envelopes the heart.