Another one for the Baby Book!
I forgot to mention that Dutch achieved another First in 2007, squeezed in there at the last minute, and told me (in the throes of yet another Leaving-Home-Battle) "I HATE YOU!"
Alas. I thought we'd take another year or two to get to this point.
Anyway, it occurred to me after she said the words that maybe we are approaching a big step of distancing. She still loves us so very much, and thinks the world of us, and is almost completely open to us, but soon she will begin to see us as embarrassments and liabilities. She won't rest her head on my belly and adoringly pet my lovehandles. She won't want to hold my hand when she poops (this will surely be a terrible wrench for me). She won't tell us everything that pops into her tiny mind. She will hide stuff from us. She will realize that her parents are incorrigible dorks who must be kept apart from her friends if at all possible. I know this is a gradual separation process, beginning at birth and ending with somebody's death, but I suspect there are some big leaps in there, too, punctuated-equilibrium-style. I don't know exactly when the first big one comes along, but I'm thinking 2008 might be the year. She's working hard now on building a life of her own, leading up to the thrilling and terrifying prospect of kindergarten (um, nearly three years away - how can it still be so far away?), and pulling away from us is an important part of that, which is kind of a mixed blessing. The number of times that she will fling her arms around my neck in that desperately passionate way is limited, but so is the number of times that she will require handholding on the toilet. It'd be awfully nice if you could have that raw love without the raw neediness, but it wouldn't be the same.
I don't think I'll ever have anything but raw love for her. I'll ALWAYS want to (desperately, passionately) fling my arms around her neck. Come to think of it, all too soon I'll need her to hold my hand while I'm on the toilet. I guess we should both find ways to enjoy the separation while it lasts.
Alas. I thought we'd take another year or two to get to this point.
Anyway, it occurred to me after she said the words that maybe we are approaching a big step of distancing. She still loves us so very much, and thinks the world of us, and is almost completely open to us, but soon she will begin to see us as embarrassments and liabilities. She won't rest her head on my belly and adoringly pet my lovehandles. She won't want to hold my hand when she poops (this will surely be a terrible wrench for me). She won't tell us everything that pops into her tiny mind. She will hide stuff from us. She will realize that her parents are incorrigible dorks who must be kept apart from her friends if at all possible. I know this is a gradual separation process, beginning at birth and ending with somebody's death, but I suspect there are some big leaps in there, too, punctuated-equilibrium-style. I don't know exactly when the first big one comes along, but I'm thinking 2008 might be the year. She's working hard now on building a life of her own, leading up to the thrilling and terrifying prospect of kindergarten (um, nearly three years away - how can it still be so far away?), and pulling away from us is an important part of that, which is kind of a mixed blessing. The number of times that she will fling her arms around my neck in that desperately passionate way is limited, but so is the number of times that she will require handholding on the toilet. It'd be awfully nice if you could have that raw love without the raw neediness, but it wouldn't be the same.
I don't think I'll ever have anything but raw love for her. I'll ALWAYS want to (desperately, passionately) fling my arms around her neck. Come to think of it, all too soon I'll need her to hold my hand while I'm on the toilet. I guess we should both find ways to enjoy the separation while it lasts.
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