There she is, my baby Sylvia, out of the crib and in a big girl bed. (Originally, it was Rodrigo's big BOY bed, but throw a pastel-colored bug quilt on it, and Viola, it's a big girl bed). Miguel put it together for her on Saturday and disassembled, for the final time, the crib. I can't believe it's happening already, but at the same time, she is more than double the age (in months) Rodrigo was when we put him in that bed.
It's not so much the bed, as the way she's been acting in the two days since we gave her the bed. I've noticed about children that there are certain milestones that will signal to them "I've arrived, I'm a big kid now and I will no longer do...." fill in the blank here. I remember when Rodrigo was potty trained (a task that wasn't easy), but when he was finally, totally potty-trained, within 2 days he had determined that he would also be dressing himself and I could no longer pick his clothes for him. Since moving to her bed 2 days ago, Sylvia has demanded "big kid" cups, meaning no lid, and drinks from them without spilling. And, most shockingly, she declared at nap time today (as she climbed into her bed with no help from me, thank you very much) that she didn't need her pacifier (xu-xa) and blankie for sleeping anymore. I almost fell over. Getting Rodrigo's pacifier from him took months of cajoling and manipulation. She just rolled over and went to sleep.
This evening, at bedtime, she began crying for her xu-xa (pronounced "shoe-sha"), so I gave it to her (because I'm a wimp) and she spit it out, yet continued to cry for it. Then I got it. She had realized that the xu-xa no longer fulfilled her needs, but she was missing the comfort she derived from it. My poor baby was mourning her loss. I held her and rubbed her back while she cried. Then we picked a special toy for her to bring to bed with her; and that was that, no more pacifiers!
She's turning 3 in two weeks, that's a pre-schooler, but I still call her the baby. Because I had Clara so soon after Rodrigo, I was ready to send him off to college by the time he was 3. Although Rodrigo had the honor of being the only child for the first 17 months of his life, his infancy ended rather abruptly when his sister was born and 4 weeks later we moved into a house. To give a little perspective here, Sylvia didn't even walk until she was 18 months old. Each time she sheds a little remnant of her babyhood, I'm there watching with joy and anguish. The freedom of being baby-free; the heart-wrenching reality of letting go.
Seeing the world from a toddler's eyes is magical. I'll never forget when Clara was 2, we had a great snow before Christmas and had just watched the Frosty special that week. Clara and I worked for hours making the most gigantic, perfect snowman. When we finished him off with a hat, scarf, some charcoal and a carrot, Clara was in awe. She turned to me and said, in all sincerity, "Does he talk?" It is that world full of innocence and endless possibilities that I will miss the most.
I read the book "The Poisonwood Bible" by Barbara Kingsolver long before Sylvia was even conceived. But there was a passage that touched me then and comes back to me now and truly resonates:
"A mother's body remembers her babies--the folds of soft flesh, the softly furred scalp against her nose. Each child has its own entreaties to the body and soul....But the last one: the baby who trails her scent like a flag of surrender through your life when there will be no more coming after--oh, that's love by a different name. She is the babe you hold in your arms for an hour after she's gone to sleep. If you put her down in the crib, she might wake up changed and fly away. So instead you rock by the window, drinking the light from her skin, breathing her exhaled dreams. Your heart bays to the double crescent moons of her closed lashes on her cheeks. She's the one you can't put down."
(Yes, I had two margaritas tonight. It was Margarita Monday, what else could I have done? I'm grateful. If I had written this post without a nice relaxing buzz going; I'd be in the corner right now, sobbing uncontrollably.)
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