Then the episode comes to an end. I know what will be coming next, and I'm not wrong. Peter comes running down the hall. But instead of the usual, "More Doah ee Espo-oh," he cries out, "Mama!" and runs to my arms. He climbs on my lap and snuggles in, small head resting on my collarbone, thumb in his mouth, legs crossed across my legs. I slip both arms around him and hold him tight. "Mommy, you my bes' fwen," he tells me. I snuggle him closer.
I relish these moments. Teddy is now far too big to snuggle on my lap. And it won't be long until Pete leaves this faze of childhood to move on to one without as much snuggling. It won't be long before he's too big to jump up into my arms, wrap his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck, letting me carry him a little further. It won't be long before the cute, baby-doll cries of, "Mama" turn to an exasperated, "Moooom". The days of babyhood are fast retreating (he's already telling me, "I not a baby anymo', Mommy. I a big kid!") and I know that, despite the temper tantrums and refusal to listen, despite the poopy diapers and toys strewn everywhere on a daily basis, I'm going to miss these days. Oh, I know there will be other, fantastic days to come. But they won't be these days.
So I try to hold on as long as Pete will let me, feeling his warmth snuggled against me while we talk about his friends and his family, which dinosaur each member of the family is (for the record, I'm a velociraptor, Rich is a brachiosaurus, Teddy is a T-Rex and Pete is a T-Rex and a triceratops - pronounced "tri-ter-top") and what he's been watching.
In far too short of a time, he tries to wiggle free of me and, sadly, I let him. "More Doah ee Espo-oh, Mommy! Come on!" Standing on the floor in front of me, he reaches for my hand to pull me along to the living room. And I think, "It's great being Mommy."
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| My baby, still snuggleable size |
