Please stay little...

Here's my latest Daily Press column:

"He’ll be heading off to college before you know it," a church friend reminded me last week.

It’s a popular piece of advice handed down from experienced parents to new ones. And every time I hear it, I feel that interior tug-of-war I suspect will hang around from now on.

My son Brody was never really "little" by industry standards. He made his debut at a chunky 9-pounds-12-ounces, and he stayed voraciously hungry.

In fact, since we’ve gotten over what column readers will remember as the "bad apple incident," he’s only turned his nose up — or, more in his fashion, screamed at — green beans.

So it was hard for me, a working mom, to keep up with his nursing demands. But we did it for 7 months. Well, more like 6 months.

I hung on to nursing him once a day that last month just to maintain his "nursing baby" status. And I hated the fact that when we skipped it one morning, he didn’t even notice.

But I was ready for him to have a little independence, theoretically.

The same goes for our new trick — "up." My mother-in-law and I coaxed Brody to reach out to us from the beginning. And I love the feeling I get when my wide-eyed little boy stretches his arms to the sky and coos — and then shrieks when you don’t move quickly enough — to be picked up.

Yes, column readers, Brody is spoiled. There, I’ve admitted it. But I’m not ready for time-outs and spankings. I know that his frustrated grunts and bursts of temper will have to be met with sternness eventually, and I’ve been warning him that the free ride is teetering dangerously close to the end.

And then I see my pre-teen cousin roll her eyes at her parents, and her older brother lock himself in his bedroom to talk on the phone. It’s been a while since they wanted "up."
I even tried to volunteer a parenting public service act by reminding that pre-teen cousin of her baby days.

"You were little like Brody once, and your mom took care of you and loves you just like I love Brody," I told her as she watched Brody and I play peek-a-boo one evening.

She walked away.

So, for a few more months, I’ll enjoy the time I have to spoil my little boy with reckless abandon. I’ll rush over to him when he cries to be picked up and put off the dishes to play with his green, caterpillar-shaped Alphabet Pal. And while I help him learn how to crawl, I’ll cross my fingers in the hope that he’ll still want to cuddle quietly in my lap.

God-willing, Brody will head off to college some day. But, for now, I’m going to close my eyes and pretend that’s not going to happen.

(I'll add a picture to this post later tonight).