Tick Tock

When my husband and I decided to go for child number three, some people would question me about it.

"Do you really want a third baby? Are you ready?"

My response was always "No, I don't want a third baby, I want a third child."

Don't get me wrong, I love babies. Especially mine. But I wasn't thrilled with the idea of doing it all over again. Breastfeeding, burping, spit up, bottles, diapers...I was past all that with the other two, and the idea of going back was a bit overwhelming.

But I always thought I wanted three kids. I wasn't thinking about the baby part, I was thinking about the kid part. The soccer games and birthday parties, the family ski trips and bicycle rides. You know, what kids do, not what babies do.

So now we fast forward and he's here. That third child. But he's not a child really. He's a baby. A wonderful, over-active, snuggly baby that I adore. Of course I do.

But I still find myself trying to age him. In my mind, a few more times a day than I care to admit, I think to myself how much easier this whole three kids thing will be once he gets to be older. How old? I'm not sure, but my mind usually advances him to at least the age of three.

It's that never-ending ticking of the clock that I catch myself wanting to tick a little faster. Past the age of putting random objects in his mouth, through the stage of crying out full-throttle when he can't get the stroller to move over the objects strewn all over the floor, and right over the back-breaking need to be picked up hundreds of times a day.

It's the same clock that is keeping track of when we can go on our first family vacation without bringing a pack-n-play, diapers, swim floaties, stuffed animals and sippy cups. And when I hear it ticking in those terms, I can't wait for it to speed up a bit.

But then here comes my son. Teaching me to sloooooow doooown.

He just wants to be a baby. No matter what I do to try to age him, he remains true to himself. If I try to give him the same food as us, he often won't eat it if it's on his tray. He wants to be spoon fed. Or I can cut up fresh fruit and give it to him so he feeds himself. But no, he'd rather eat the "baby food" jars that I again spoon-feed him. After all, he is still a baby.

And it's not just me that he's reminding. At our athletic club's day care, he is so active and energetic that they tried to move him to the next room, the one for kids that are 18 months and older. And he was only a little over 14 months old. On the first day that I dropped him off after his graduation, they brought him to the "big room" and all he did was cry. And cry and cry. He wanted his Gloria back (the woman in the pre-toddler room whom he loves and adores) and he wanted nothing to do with this large, overwhelming room designed for big kids. So they moved him back, and he gets to be a baby for a little while longer.

At times I think he can make it longer without a nap because he's getting older, and no, he needs - nay, demands- that extra sleep.

Or I will try to encourage him to socialize with others, especially to say "hi" and "bye" to familiar adults, and he wants none of it. Most of the time he just wants to cling to me, both hands around my neck, face snuggled into my shoulder.

I want him to go play with his toys on his own so I can get my life in gear. But he'll come find me, hiding at the computer. And he'll take my hand, and heart, and literally drag me along, forcing me to join in the fun.

And it is fun. And magical. And so special that I really do need to slow down and smell the diapers roses.

He is my last baby after all, so I shouldn't be wishing it all away in the name of tear-free days and crib-free vacations.

So I have been trying to catch myself, as often as I can, when I see the clock speeding up in my mind, to slow down and live in the moment. Even if that moment is an exhausting, snot-covered, back-aching day.

Because really, the moment, right now, right here, is all we have. We can think about the next thing, plan for the next thing, but we can't make it happen now.

There are no guarantees. Memories of the future are just fantasies until we get there. And why live in a fantasy when I have all my dreams coming true right now?

Plus, it goes without saying that we won't ever get back these moments of time.

Which I know I will be wishing for with all my heart in about 17 years.