The Calvinator

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< > December 2005

• Wed, Dec 14, 2005 8:06 AM

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CALVY!
  
  You turned 3 years old today and I feel it's time for a talk. I thought we had this discussion last year about the whole growing-up-way-too-fast-for-Mama's-liking thing? Now that you're a year older and are speaking much better, maybe this time you'll listen and Mama will just pretend there is no such thing as 4 years old.
  
  For the first time in your short life, you were completely healthy on your birthday (YAY!). No throwing up, no stray snot, no coughing up of the lungs; just a healthy boy eating copious amounts of cake. Calvin, all I have to say is: IT'S ABOUT DAMN TIME.
  
  You refused to eat your very first birthday cake like a proper 1-year-old, and you wanted nothing to do with your Spongebob birthday cake at 2 years; most likely because you could taste nothing but phlegm. So imagine how happy I was, being the irresponsible mom I am, to see you inhale your Finding Nemo birthday cake as though your real name was Hoover.
  
  Happy Birthday, Little Hoover!
  
  Let me begin with a cliché, if I may: Holy hell, have the last 3 years flown by or what? When you were born, Calvin, I remember thinking to myself that I didn’t want you to get any older or bigger or anything. I loved you just the way you were: tiny, toothless and full of snuggles.
  
  Then you got bigger and started to smile (statistics may say it’s gas, but all moms know that’s nonsense). And then you grew yourself a couple of teeth. And I decided that it was OK that you’d grown up a little and sprouted sharp objects in your mouth, but no more changing. I loved you just the way you were: small, smiley and full of drool.
  
  Then there was that whole crawling and walking nonsense that was too cute to protest. It was killing me that you were learning so much so fast, but the excitement was overwhelming, so I relented and decided it was OK that my son was mobile and, therefore, a tiny Godzilla; curious and destructive. But THAT WAS IT. I was putting my foot down. No more growing up. Everything was perfect and I loved you just the way you were.
  
  You must have listened a little bit because you didn’t start talking all that much when you were supposed to. Oh sure, you carried on long, drawn out conversations with the walls and inanimate objects, but nobody but you and the coffee table knew what you were saying. But since you were being exposed to 2 languages, I was told not to worry (HA!) and that the important thing was that you UNDERSTOOD what you were told. So I got a breather and really enjoyed everything about you without sobbing to anything with ears about how my baby was growing too fast.
  
  And then you’d decided enough was enough. The coffee table was no longer a suitable conversationalist; you decided to start speaking actual words and sentences to other humans and my heart shattered knowing you were hitting a major milestone. But what parent can resist a talking child? Who was I kidding? I didn’t care. I was too proud to lament my nearly-grown toddler. I loved you just the way you were.
  
  Now you’re mastering numbers, letters, colors, shapes, logic, and BY GOD you can say your ABC’s. You sing along (and even do the motions) to Itsy Bitsy Spider and you continue to give me the daily school bus traffic report. You’re diligent about “please� and “thank you� and act more and more like a little boy, rather than my baby. You roughhouse with Papa and are so eager to help us do grown up things around the house (please keep that up for the next 15 years, mmkay?). You brush your teeth on your own, you get dressed on your own, and you now sleep in your own big-boy bunkbed courtesy of Grandma Linda.
  
  You start preschool at the first of the year and pretty soon I’ll be embarrassing you on your first day of school by being THAT MOM who hides outside her son’s classroom to make sure he’s doing alright. But I promise I’ll post bail in time to pick you up after school, ok?
  
  You’re growing up so fast Calvin and I’m completely stuck between beaming with pride and choking on my own sobs. I can’t tell you how much Papa and I love this age. Everything’s perfect and I love you just the way you are.
  
  
  P.S. As much as I appreciate you withholding the potty training to slow down the growing up process for Mama, I completely understand if you want to go ahead and master that already.

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