Better Than the Alternative

On the night before Zane’s birthday, I was really overcome with feelings of sadness. I should have known these feelings were coming because, for some reason, I had been actively avoiding the subject of Zane’s upcoming birthday – didn’t want to buy gifts, didn’t want to plan the birthday “playdates” we’re having instead of one big party, didn’t want to help my mom plan the birthday dinner – all of which is quite uncharacteristic of me. (My basic nature being both planful and celebratory).

I have typically looked forward to each milestone, anniversary, and new skill and have felt so excited for Zane when we got there. In fact before this birthday, I may have even felt the tiniest bit of disdain for mamas who felt sad as their children grew up. My reasoning went something like, That’s our job – to nurture and raise them to be big people, so we should feel happy with each new step they take. It means we’ve done our job well.

So, I was in for quite a shock when all I could do was cry on this birthday eve after we put Zane to bed. SRH went to bed, and I woke him up by crawling into his arms and depositing big tears and snot balls all over his shirt.

SRH: What’s the matter?

Me: I just feel so sad. I mean, I’m happy that he’s becoming a big boy, but I just love him so much just the way he is right now.

SRH: He is good stuff.

Me: I know, but I loved 2 years old. Why does he have to be three?

SRH: (Pause). Because it’s better than the alternative.

Me: I know. I am happy. I’m just sad, too.

SRH: (Longer pause). So, you’re sad and happy both? Does that make you sappy?

Indeed it does.

*Editor’s Note: This is officially the end of the whole sentimental-about-my-kid-growing-up thing that I’ve had going on in my last two posts. I’m over it. Next post is going to be clever and witty and may change the face of the blogging universe as we know. I’m sure of it.