Right now, you’re nestled in my lap, fast asleep. Your left arm is stretched high above your head, cradling what you think is a blanket, but is really just my hair. Whether it’s bedtime at 9 PM or the crack of dawn at 5 AM, that hair is your comfort. Your breathing is slow and steady, almost allowing me to lay you down in your crib. I tiptoe over the baby gate that, honestly, seems more decorative than necessary. As I hold you close, I can’t help but feel how quickly you’re outgrowing my lap; your legs seem to stretch endlessly.
But, my dear, you’re not growing up.
Just yesterday, I watched in awe as you climbed into your car seat all by yourself when we were leaving daycare. My role was reduced to simply buckling you in. I can’t shake the feeling that soon you’ll be doing that all on your own too. It’s just a matter of time—a small matter of time, and I must admit, it makes me a bit wistful.
But, you’re not growing up.
You’ve also figured out how to pour water from a bottle into your big boy cup. Sure, you might spill a drop or two, but for the most part, you handle it like a pro! I remind you to use both hands, thinking you need my guidance, until I glance over and see you confidently holding your adorable tiger cup with just one hand. In that moment, it hits me: your hand is bigger, stronger, capable of so much more than I want to acknowledge.
But, you’re not growing up.
Today, you went the entire day without a single potty accident! Your precautionary pull-up was dry this morning, a testament to your progress in toilet training. Your collection of underwear has swelled from three to nearly thirty pairs, and soon, pull-ups will just be a memory. My heart swells with pride and relief.
But, you’re not growing up.
You came home with a goody bag filled with snacks and treats from daycare, your eyes lighting up when you found the Starburst. I asked if you wanted me to open the first one, but you ignored me. I tried again, and still, silence. Then, with your tiny fingers, you unwrapped that candy all by yourself! You tossed the wrapper aside and popped the sweet pink treat into your mouth without a second thought.
But, you’re not growing up.
I know it sounds like I’m in denial, but I’m not. Truthfully, I wish you could stay my little baby forever. I cherish this time when picnics with me are the highlight of your day, when you let me kiss your boo-boos, and when you ask me to dance with you in public (yes, it’s true!).
I accept that you’re getting bigger. Your clothes practically scream this reality at me. The way your shirts fit tighter and the fear of your pants becoming high waters before the season changes—it’s all too real.
But, you’re not growing up. You’re growing out and away. Out of your 2T clothes and away from baby books. Out of size 9 shoes and away from sippy cups. Thank goodness you’re outgrowing tantrums and moving away from riding in the front of the cart. You are growing away from me, too—out of my arms and away from my protective embrace. So, with a heavy heart, I realize I must lay you down. You need your sleep, and so do I.
Rest well, sweet boy. Know this: no matter how big you get, you will never grow out of my days or away from my future. You will remain in my thoughts, my care, and my heart forever.
As I close my eyes, I find solace in knowing that though you’ll be a little further away tomorrow, I can still guide you from where I stand.
So, sleep peacefully tonight.
Summary
This heartfelt letter captures a mother’s bittersweet feelings as she watches her son grow and develop new skills. She reflects on the small milestones, like climbing into his car seat and mastering potty training, while grappling with the reality that he is growing up. Despite her longing for him to remain her baby, she acknowledges that he is growing out and away, but reassures him that her love for him will always remain.