I recently attended a baby shower. Did I ever learn a lot! I
probably got last place in the game we played – guess the price of several baby
items. Winner is closest without going over. If I’d bought those items I
wouldn’t have brought enough money with me. Of course, I wouldn’t have bought
them in the first place. I had no idea what some of them even were. Apparently things have changed since
I was in the baby market. And no
prize for last place.
If I thought I was out of my realm here, just wait until we
got to the gifts. My friend sat in front of a crowd of people opening bag after
blue bag of cute little baby items. At my baby shower, many years ago, no one had ever
heard of gift bags. We put our gifts in boxes and wrapped them in wrapping paper.
Really – this must be a ploy for tissue paper manufacturers. Scads of that
stuff everywhere. Blue and white and printed with designs. Fortunately I was in
step with the times enough to have brought my gift in a bag of tissue paper too, so I wasn’t showing my age - just yet. Anyway I’m not even sure if stores sell
wrapping paper any more.
And if I felt dated before, what was inside some of those
bags made everything worse. I’d never heard of something called a Bumpo seat,
but I was assured every new mother must have one. Swaddling cloths with Velcro closures. I could figure out
the basics of what to do with those, but it was certainly something my children
never had. We wrapped them in blankets as well as we could and called it
good. Baby monitors with two-way
audio? Or video? Really? My baby monitor was like an oversized walkie-talkie
with static pouring out that sometimes picked up neighbor’s telephone
conversations. And my favorite – a blooming bath seat. Pretty and so fun
looking. But my kids had an oblong shaped yellow sponge to lay on for baths and
by the time baby #3 came along the sponge was in at least three pieces, soon to
be more. It never even occurred to me to buy a new one.
My gift to the expectant mother was a hand crocheted baby
blanket. Honestly, with all the new cutesy stuff everyone else gave her I felt
like an old granny in a rocking chair, needles clicking and a ball of yarn
unwinding at my feet. I suppose people still use baby blankets but they’re
certainly not the staple they once were what with sacs, papoose carriers,
hooded wraps along with the afore-mentioned Velcro-ed swaddling cloths. Well Ok
then. I just admitted my age and distance from anything baby related by my
gift. My friend was nice enough
not to mention the antiquity of my hand-made contribution.
But, is it possible I know something younger moms don’t
know? Does she know the sweet little baby boy she’ll soon be dressing in all
those cute clothes will someday grow up? Does she know he will grow taller than
his mom, sprout whiskers and speak in a bass voice? Does she know he will go
off to live his own life one day and take his mama’s heart with him when he
goes? I suppose she knows all these things on the surface but deep down, way
deep down, does she give these realities enough credibility to prepare for
them? I know I didn’t.
I look back at my life from when my boys were little. Such
sweet little boys, young faces and bright eyes forever emblazoned in my memory.
Now they’re adults, even if I do still see little boy faces when I look at
them.
My oldest son lives half way across the country with my
beautiful daughter-in-law and obviously gets along quite well without Mom looking over his shoulder. How can that feel right to a mother’s heart?
Randon makes his home in heaven. He is safe, happy and
secure forever. Does that mean I don’t think about him or miss him? Hardly.
My baby has matured into a college man. He still needs me
for some things, primarily to do with my bank account. But, for all intents and
purposes, he is his own person, independent and living his own life. My
influence is part of him but it is what it is. He’s too old for me to continue
to shape and mold him. He is his own.
Long story short – my babies are grown up but they will
always be my babies. Every year on his November birthday I send a FB message to
son #3, from the old Blake Shelton song that hits home every time I hear it. “I
don’t care if you’re 80, you’ll always be my baby.” He’s gone from being
embarrassed by it to a grudging acceptance. Last year I believe he even
included a thank you in his response.
My babies may be grown men but they are still my babies. My
friend’s new son will be her baby forever. I do believe if you asked my mother
she will still say I am her baby. The definition of baby is not the tiny human
being you hold in your arms after 9 months of pregnancy. It is what happens in
your heart when you take your first look at them and carry with you for the
rest of your days.
Anyway, it’s not such a bad thing to be Mama’s baby. Someday
my boys will get to inherit a gazillion books, boxes of half used yarn skeins
and my great-grandmother’s napkin collection. It can’t get any better than
that.
