my baby

As I glance around the room of my soon to be 4 year old,  I can see relics of his time as a baby fading away. Gone are the framed foot prints and mobile that hung by and on his crib. Instead a personalized Superman print is prominently displayed above his "big boy" bed. Gone are the polka dot crib sheets, the glider, and the soft stacking blocks. Only the 3 sketches of stuffed animals remain. The art that I found, fell in love with and spent a fortune on while I was pregnant with him. They dot his wall as a reminder that although he is growing, he is still my baby.
His room, like his personality is changing everyday. He no longer runs to me when I pick him up from school, no longer wants to be hugged and kissed in front of friends and I'm no longer a perfect angel in his eyes. These are the moments that fade away so quickly and imperceptibly that if you blink you may miss them.
I can remember like it was yesterday, the day he was born. The overwhelming love I felt. Holding my perfect son and promising that I would always love him and be there for him. I would have endless patience to help him to learn and grow. We spent hours playing and I was amazed at every new development and milestone he reached. I had every toy, every baby necessity and each thing was in pristine condition. No pacifier that fell on the floor went unsanitized, stains were treated and lifted gently out of clothing and toys and highchairs were lovingly polished to a shine. I had what I like to call "first time mom syndrome" You remember that time, when you believe that motherhood is exactly as you imagined. You have a beautiful, special child that you can take along to lunches and on shopping trips. A quiet child that naps wherever and whenever. You notice the approving glances from strangers as you pull boogie wipes, hand sanitizer and an endless aray of snacks from your perfectly packed diaper bag and you think to yourself "I have so got this..I'm an amazing mother" Now that I'm 2 kids deep and on most weeks, a single mother, I am on the opposite end of the spectrum. The other day I found cheerios in my sports bra...that I was wearing, after I had been to the gym, and without thinking....I ate them. Thinking back, this is clearly disgusting, but at that moment my choice solved 2 problems. I had nowhere to throw them away and it had been a while since my last meal. If I have baby wipes with me, its a miracle and must only be because some superior mother must have felt badly for me and slipped them into my trunk. My kids are noisy, rowdy, and dirty to the point that they literally leave a dirt ring around the tub every night. I find myself, not full of patience but constantly on the edge of shouting at someone. Each new development for my youngest is noticed in passing and does not make me want to cry out in elation and delight. This type of mothering is nothing like I imagined but as far as I can tell...its the real deal. I know, I'm not alone and I take great comfort in that. As much as I roll my eyes at the "new moms", I can't help but envy them. I remember that stage and all the joy and love that went into every decision.
As I softly close the door to my "big boy's" room, my eyes fall on a framed picture of the two of us. In the photo, I am lifting him into the air and nuzzling my face into him while he laughs and shrieks. It was taken on a day when he was still my tiny baby and that invisible line that would move him farther away from me was blissfully imperceptible. A time when his every movement was considered pure genius to me. That moment, captured in time reminds me that every moment I can keep him close is a gift. That every time I can make him laugh or amaze him will be one more moment that each of us can look back on and treasure. I may not be the perfect mother, but I'm smart enough to recognize that one day my children will be grown and drift away.