sharing with the world

This week marked a first in Pudge's life of three years, almost eight months. He left my side and went into his first official kids-and-teacher kind of class. We've done parent and child classes, but this week he went into a creative movement class in which I hugged him and left the room, and he went off to be a part of the group listening to the teacher's directions.

Emotions have been swirling through my head about this first, as well as the impending Big Life Change that will occur in forty-something days when I return to work and the kids go to school, and in my imagination, I'm the first person in the history of the world to feel this way. My resistance to being a cliche is at an all-time high, because my heart tells me this is more than just the simple, "Aw, my baby is growing up," sentiment.

Each of my children has had a different early childhood experience. JAM and I got to spend about 14 weeks at home together after his birth, with a solid 1/3 of those spent crying. (Him from colic, me from first-time-mom-of-a-baby-with-colic.) Before I knew it, we were bringing him to child care every day, and he was a part of a world that didn't include me. With Red, we had a glorious spring and summer to spend together before I had to go back to work, but even then, I was on a 3 day work week, so while she went off to the babysitter on some days, we still had every other day all to ourselves while JAM was off at school.

Then there is Pudge. That dude has been by my side for three and a half years. His newborn days are really just a blur now, but he and an 18-month old Red soon got a handle on our daily schedule, which morphed as he outgrew the seemingly nonstop breastfeeding and two-a-day naps that marked the early days, and our time now resembles a typical preschool daily routine. We've had parent & child swim classes and music classes, playgroups and lots of unstructured time hanging out with friends at the playground. He's had to share his space and his toys with the various children I've babysat regularly over the last two years, and he's made some darling friends with the kids of my pals.

But now? Apparently now I have to share my little boy with the world. No longer will he just be my third child, but he'll be one of someone's 18 students. He'll be a member of a class, a friend of children whose parents aren't my closest friends, a student that a teacher may talk about (for good or naught) to her own family.

I'm slightly troubled that one might judge me for not feeling the same way about Red, with her first day of school coming up, too. Can others truly understand how she's been out in the world in a way that Pudge hasn't for a long time now? She's always been the child that strangers remark about when we're out ("Look at that hair!), and she's comfortable now talking with people to thank them for their compliments or to answer the questions that adults feel compelled to pepper kids with. She's had a separation from me, first with her three day a week sitter for a school year, and then simply with her personality which frequently desires space and alone time. I'll miss our special moments during the day, but I know that this is what she needs.

On the other hand, Pudge is the child who always comes back to me. He is the child who climbs up on me every day in my chair in the living room, molding his body perfectly into the empty space on my left. He is the child who spontaneously puts his little arm around me, barely reaching my other shoulder, and pats my back gently for no particular reason. He is the child who reaches for my hand, expertly threading his fingers through mine and holding on. He is the child who puts his face next to mine on his pillow at night for our snuggles, closing his eyes as our noses touch.

I have to share this little boy with people who don't know that his first hug after nap time is tender and affectionate, all warm after his sweaty body awakens. No one else knows how perfect that spot on his cheek is to nuzzle and kiss when he first wakes up. His belly laughs will be a regular part of someone else's day, audible joy for someone else to consume.

Pudge will no longer be just Pudge, my third child, the surprise we didn't even realize we needed in order to be a whole family. Pudge, my sweet little boy whose capacity for empathy often serves as a much needed reminder for me. Pudge, my regular daily companion, in art projects and vacuumed floors, story times and laundry.

I've begun to share my little boy with the world, and cliche be damned, I'm struggling.


Emotionally yours,