Parenting Phase II

I just found out that a dear friend is pregnant with baby number one. Oh, the joy, the bliss, the vomitting, the blessed ignorance of baby number one. Your only concern is the perfect name, the perfect nursery, and the perfect pink or blue outfit to wear to your baby shower. Adding more to the mix and your concern grows to what will #1 think of #2? Will I have time for #1 because of #2? or #3 or #4???



The early years are just so darn physically exhausting. I look back at pictures and think, wow, I look so young as my eyes seem to now be turning into a road map of my age. However, age and wrinkles aside, your biggest concern is - is it feeding time, wake time or nap time? Is the little bugger going to sleep all night? Is he eating enough? Pooping enough? Pooping too much? Should he be sitting up by now? babbling? rolling over, holding his own bottle, using the p-b sound blends???? Oh, crap, just throw out the "what to expect the first year book" - it brings far too much mommy guilt to provide any useful information.



With my eldest, I feel like we are entering parenting PHASE II. He can think and process things. He showers, dresses, eats and generally takes care of his homework and daily stuff on his own. He has an opinion (well, they all have opinions - especially THE BABY) but his opinion is starting to matter. Parenting is turning into guiding moral issues, spiritual issues, friend issues, heart issues. And, I find, what he needs most is for me to be his champion and biggest fan. We had some issues over the weekend. One left him retreating in his closet to sort things out. I find this funny because I retreat to my closet in times of despair and deep thought. I highly reccommend it.



Anyway, I find him in the closet and I lay down next to him and tell him that my closet is really a much nicer spot (larger and not so messy) and that as my beloved son he can borrow it whenever he sees fit. This causes his teary face to giggle and I know that I have been "let in." We talk for a bit, cry for a bit, and the long and short of it is I tell him that I love him and he is safe here. Home is safe and I believe what he is telling me. A wave of relief washes over him and we exit the closet for a round of Rock Band on the X-box. (I can play the bass on the "hard" level on two songs, by the way).



Hours later, he tells me. "thanks, mom."

"for what, my love?" I ask.

"for believing me."

wow, the diapers and sleepless nights were easier.