Baby No More

An era ends quietly

My “baby” in the Caribbean Sea, all by herself.

On the morning that I no longer had any official “children” in my care - Sunday, December 21st, to be precise - I got up early and walked down to the beach at the resort where we were spending the “festive” holidays. I breathed in the warm air and felt the ocean breeze in my hair. I looked out at the blue green water and fluffy white clouds. I wiggled my toes in the cool, impossibly soft white sand. It was our first full day of vacation and it would be filled with celebration as our youngest child turned 18.

Walking back to our room, I passed the rooster whose “cock-a-doodle-doo” we heard in the dark hours of early morning. I cursed him quietly under my breath. I then came upon a young father pushing a stroller. We greeted each other warmly and I bent to peer under the stroller canopy at the toddler within. She was maybe 18 months old, with wispy blonde hair and big blue eyes. She was wearing pink pajamas and grey miniature Crocs. I asked her if she was taking a little nap on her walk and her father told me, no, he was just walking her to buy some time as his 7 and 9 year olds slept. He had pulled the short straw and was charged with taking the baby out so everyone else could wake at a more decent hour.

I told him that my “baby” turned 18 that very day, and was asleep inside her hotel room, along with her older brother and sister. He responded, simply, “jealous.”

He was jealous of me.

My kids are grown and don’t need to be carried or walked in a stroller in the early morning hours. They sleep, typically quite late if given the opportunity. They brush their own teeth. They move food from plate to mouth all on their own. They drive and work and ostensibly handle their own shit. That level of freedom seemed painfully far off to this young father. And his life stage - filled as it is with Goldfish crackers and board books, chicken nuggets and tantrums - seems like ancient history to me. We were two people on two ends of the same continuum. But I wondered: who should be jealous of whom?

It all went by so quickly, the 25 years I’ve spent raising kids. Of course it did. To paraphrase John Lennon, life is what happens when you’re changing diapers and registering for Super Soccer Stars, when you’re dealing with adolescent angst and college applications. And then….suddenly and all at once, it’s over.

This is not an “empty nest” essay. My nest isn’t empty yet, although that day is fast approaching. I generally find “empty nest” discussions tiresome and overwrought. We all knew this was the outcome. We signed up for this gig. If we were doing it right, and we were very, very lucky, the job was scheduled to end around the 18 year mark. We really can’t, and shouldn’t, be surprised or aggrieved when we wake up and the house is quiet. We knew this was coming from the day the journey began. And yet…..

I don’t fool myself to think that my job as Mom and COO of our family magically ends on an August day next summer when I drive away from whatever college campus my youngest ends up selecting. The job, with all of its attendant worries and joys, is lifelong.

But for now, this week, I am contemplating the quiet end of an era. My youngest child is technically an adult and hasn’t been a baby in a very long time. Google informed me that her email account was now entirely under her control. The doctors office will no longer allow me to log into her account to send messages, pay bills, etc. (good luck to everyone on that one). She is managing her college process almost entirely on her own.

I’m not sad about any of these things. I’m happy to move into this new stage. This child and I have a great relationship and we understand and enjoy each other immensely. Will I be sad when she goes off to college? Of course - I’ll be losing my constant companion and buddy. But I’ll also be so pleased, proud and excited for her to be starting this new phase, embarking on the roller coaster of this new adventure.

As I contemplated my “baby’s” birthday and met that little cutie in her stroller on Sunday, I was reminded that I have not held a baby in forever, perhaps many years. The youngest children in our family are my nieces who are nearly nine. I’ll sometimes see a cute baby on the street and remark to my own baby that I’d like to snatch it and place it in my bag and take it home and snuggle it. My daughter reminds me that this is insane, and I shouldn’t say these words too loudly because someone might arrest me.

But I miss the many delicious sensory experiences of holding a baby. That sand-bag weight in my arms. The smell of their heads and necks, a mixture of sour and sweet, of soap and skin. The impossible softness of the skin on their cheeks. The downy fuzz of their hair. Their tiny toes and nails that defy logic. The singular quality of their fat rolls, like Pillsbury biscuit dough, fresh from the air-tight tube.

I know I’ll have another opportunity to hold a baby and I look forward to it. I will enjoy it so much, appreciate it so much more than when it was one of my own, devoid as it will be of any stressor or overwhelm. I’ll savor it. Inhale deeply. Gently stroke all of those delicious parts. And then, with joy, nostalgia and a little sadness, I’ll hand it back.