have you ever gone on a walk with a toddler
if you answered yes, NO YOU HAVEN'T.
We are ridiculously privileged to live close enough to C’s school to be able to walk him to and from every day. It’s anywhere from a 5.5 to 12 minute walk, depending on a number of factors including a) if I am by myself sprinting through the streets, b) if the toddler is with us c) if the toddler is walking on his own steam or being pushed by me, but not sprinting, in the stroller, and d) the number of sidewalk cracks we have to avoid and/or purposefully step on based on the game of the day.
What is the game of the day, you ask? I’ll never know, and neither will you or anyone else who is not 5 years old.
Anyway, so the other day, J - 2 years old going on 12 - insists he doesn’t want to ride in the stroller and he wants to “run” with his big brudder. Fine, I say, because we don’t really have anywhere to be, or at least not anywhere important, at any particular time, and it’s cold but we’re layered up and we aren’t going to be late even if we max out or even exceed the expected travel time.
Guess who has regrets before we’ve even gone a single city block? C’EST MOI.
We are stopping every 5 to 7 steps, while J yells at us to STOP or - his most recent fixation, for some reason - hollering something about a kidnapper approaching. I have no idea where this came from and yes I am horrified by it.
All of this followed closely by a few seconds of whining because CHAWEE won’t slow down to walk with him, because CHAWEE is almost 6-years-old (sob) and CHAWEE likes doing the opposite of whatever his little brother is requesting of him.
We finally make it, they hug adorably and we watch big bro walk inside his big kid school - BYE CHAWEE - before embarking on the walk back. He is, of course, not wanting to walk anymore by this point, but I convince him to keep going for 2 whole blocks before I cave and carry him the last 4. He’s not very big, but he’s not a baby anymore and so it’s simultaneously fine and difficult, what with both of us being wrapped up like Randy from Christmas Story.
One block later, I have a rhythm. I’ve managed to clasp him equally-ish with both arms, and get him balanced in front so I’m not taxing one hip or the other in that standard spine-fucking alignment-ruining side-carry. Shout out to my chiropractor - Brooke, I am trying my best, ok?
This position puts our faces really close together and so I have up-close-and-personal views of his still round toddler cheeks, his eyelashes, his nose that I’m obsessed with. And I can hear him really well, too, because the thing to know about my little J is that his voice is adorably soft (like many toddlers) and he never shuts up (…also many toddlers). Never. Not never. Not a single moment in his waking hours is he not saying something about something. Something you have to listen to because he does that infuriating toddler thing of repeating something again and again until you acknowledge in some way - “Mmhmmm” or “wow” or “okay” [but as discussed previously, sometimes “okay” backfires on me].
I don’t even remember what he was talking about, but it was something very important to him, and he was sprinkling those “right, Mama?” or “okay, Mama?” every few statements and it felt like what a conversation might be like with a savant pre-teen. No social skills, no empathy, not always lots of sense, but deep thoughts, important statements. That brain in there has LOTS in it, and he’s just trying to share, because it’s nice to share, right, Mama?
At some point, I let his little voice babbles wash over me, and I thought, “OHMIGOD, I LOVE THIS.” He’s just so fucking cute, the words that come out of his mouth are so fucking cute, the way he was resting his hand on my shoulder and patting me every now and then with his tiny still-just-a-tad-pudgy hand. Fucking cute! And a great distraction at block 3, knowing I had one more to go but my arms were seriously cramping and what were the odds he’d be willing to walk again for just a little bit but also I wanted to keep him this close to my face because I really liked the idea of having his cheek right there, to press my nose into it if I wanted. But “no tank you Mama for kisses,” because you’ve never met a kid who hates snuggles more than this one.
Whenever I have these intense moments, I feel immediate doubt and guilt and shame. Not necessarily a LOT of any of these things, and sometimes it’s fleeting, but there all the same. It feels like these moments - the ones of intense love and joy and delight in being with him - should be, should have been happening more, a long time ago. More with C, maybe, whose cuteness I think was largely blocked “in the moment” by my anxiety goggles. I don’t remember the moments, at least. Or very many of them.
And maybe it’s that “this is my final kid, better soak it up” kinda moment. I hate that mindset honestly, the whole, better appreciate it because it could be or is your last chance! Last chance for toddler cheeks! Last chance for adorable lack of volume control! Last chance for continuous volatile half-second personality changes! Last chance for I NO WAN YOU TO BREAK MY BANANA. Last chance for NO DINNER ONLY SNACK!!! Last chance for endless Daniel Tiger and Miss Rachel!!! Last chance!!!!! LAST. EVER.
So maybe it’s a little of that. My subconscious knows the moments are fleeting and final. So it’s nudging me like hey, pay attention. Kid is being cute. He’ll never be this small again. But it’s whispering, because it knows that if I’m threatened with “last time he’ll nap on you” kinda sentiments, I’ll reject it, because callous humor is my coping mechanism.
A long time ago, one of my favorite internet people who is now no longer on the internet (amazing), said something about her children that I have tried to carry with me and perhaps have already written about. So DO forgive me if I’m repeating myself.
When referring to the standard parental lament of time passing too quickly, and growth happening at accelerated rates, and dissatisfaction with how quickly everything, especially the good parts, pass you by, she said: [not a direct quote] Time is passing at the exact right rate it is supposed to. The children are growing how they are meant to. The passage of time means we’re living, and the rate of growth means we’re doing something right.
And I love this. I prefer to put my brain in that state instead of in a state of lamentation. I want to SEE the growth. I want to SEE progress. I want to SEE how they learn. I want to SEE that my frustrations are “paying off,” or “working,” or not. I want to SEE them figuring shit out. Life. Scooters. Hide and seek. Friendship. Emotional regulation. I want to SEE them figuring out that yes 12 blocks roundtrip is apparently too big a distance for BIG BOI JAMES little legs.
Maybe next time.
The next time, we took the stroller, at his request. And I smiled, because it’s funny and it’s cute and he obviously remembered the previous time and how tired he got. And then I realized we are nearing the end (ish) of our stroller phase, and I was sad for half a second. And then I lamented that I hate our stroller and won’t it be nice when I don’t need to use it anymore.
kloveyoubyeeeeeeeeeeeee
If you were nodding along like YAS GF or thought of all your gal pals with conflicting and contradictory feelings about motherhood, it would be super duper cool if you sent it to them. We love a referral.