When Avery first rolled over (and off my bed), it was a happy milestone (any resulting brain damage appears minimal). I was thrilled when she slept through the night, when she smiled, when she laughed, when she crawled, when she walked. When Callie first rolled over (and off my bed), it was a great milestone (she is left-handed, but we’re okay with that). I was relieved when she slept through the night on her back, when she stopped binging and purging on breastmilk, when she got eight stitches along her hairline and survived summertime croup. When Lucy first rolled over (and off my bed) it was a joyous milestone (her voice is stuck in munchkin-helium land, but most of the time it’s cute). I was ecstatic when she potty-trained, when she went off to preschool, when she wrote her name and started seeing letters everywhere.
When Molly first rolled over, I finally figured out that babies (most babies, my babies) roll over right around four months, and she rolled over onto the rug. Sometimes milestones feel like a personal triumph of my genes passed on or my parenting paying off. Which is dumb, because the strongest gene-milestone connection I see is the prodigious talent my children have for eating, and while that’s convenient and laudable in a toddler, it’s a bit unfortunate in a metabolism-slowing thirty-three-year-old. As for the parenting styles — I mostly agree with those who say that the more kids you have the more parenting styles you can imagine being “right.” And also that kids are so different, and reach their milestones so variably that obviously it’s not anything you do.
Except my kids are almost eerie in their adherence to some trends. Late teethers, right-on-time rollers, sitters, crawlers, walkers, late talkers, early-ice-cream-adopters.
Every time Avery, Callie and Lucy did something new, it felt like a reward for showing up every day to the parenting gig.
Oh, how things have changed. Molly is right on with her sisters in most things. At seven months, she is grabbing spaghetti off the table and not making any discernable language-type sounds.
But she is standing. All the time, pulling herself up, falling over spectacularly because she is not really ready for this. She is a baby. Babies do not stand. I tell her over and over that it is not time yet, that she is a baby, my baby, my last baby, and listen, baby honey baby, it is not time for this yet. Maybe not for another five years or so. Because you are my baby.
She doesn’t listen. She just keeps standing.
But Mama was right, huh baby?
We’re not quite ready for this.
Good thinking on getting a wider stance for better stability, but you are still a baby, baby.
Uh-oh. Yesterday she was crying at this point, desperate for rescue. Yesterday she still needed her mother.
And she’s down. Today she can get down by herself.
Though maybe she was expecting some help?
And she’s off.
Come back, baby.
Subscribe by email
My first baby full-on walked at 9.5 months. I was so proud then, and I was ignorant and new enough at the mothering to wish for anything later. I thought my son was gifted and advanced. He probably was, at least for his age and in the motor skills department. But as I’ve had more kids, I’ve learned that it’s a luxury for the baby not to know how to walk…at least not to wish for it too soon! Thankfully each of my subsequent babies has learned to walk later than the one before him/her. If I keep up this trend, maybe my current baby won’t walk for a year yet?! I hate to hold my breath about it, and start to brace myself at 9 months while feeling grateful for each day that goes by that I get before that milestone. I know what you are going through!
I still call my four-year-old “baby” and I always will.
I still call my 5YO and 3YO my “babies.” They often remind me they’re not babies, but I refuse–simply refuse–to admit it.
Standing already? Wow. Time does go fast.
I misread the title as ‘flexible millstones’ – I’m obviously feeling weighed down by the whole motherhood thing lol!
Lovely pictures. My eldest walked before he was 10 months old. Still doesn’t stop moving – or talking! And my youngest is still the baby.
At age 7 I was handing over all sorts of responsibilities to the eldest child, but my ‘baby’ age 7 has the luxury of being the youngest and never having to ‘hold the baby while I fold this buggy up’ or listen to me saying ‘just watch your brother near that road’ or ‘you need to set a good example, I’m relying on you’. Funny how birth order can be such a strong force that shapes our character and determines so much of our life outcome…
Laney sped-crawled and then went straight to running at 8.5 months. Do I need to tell you I’m not really a fan? People who push their children to milestones like that one obviously misunderstand the level of hypervigilance they’ll quickly have to reach in order to keep up with a precociously mobile baby. Stay little, littles! It’s happier for everyone!
WHAT?!?!?!?!? Standing? Splits? Tell her to stop growing until I see her again.
Why am I so emotional about this post? I was practically bawling by the end. My heart feels SO heavy seeing my five month old growing too fast. Imagining that in two months she could be crawling or trying to stand wigs me out. I don’t know if my baby is my last. But my hubby thinks so. And I want to hold on to every last baby moment.
One more thing. My favorite picture is the second to last one. I love that look on her face. She’s beautiful. just like the rest.
I had my youngest when my sister and brother both had their first. It was interesting to watch the difference. I kept telling them to relax and enjoy it. It didn’t matter in even a couple years when they walked, talked, was potty trained, first knew their ABC’s.
Lately I’ve been looking at my youngest and remembering how grown up I thought my oldest was at that age. He seems so young still.
The last one is hard to watch grow up — until it hits the point when you’re anxious to get on with your “empty nest.” Then you celebrate “the last school function,” “the last halloween costume,” “the last driving lesson,” etc. Believe me, it does come full swing.