I've been thinking about this a lot.
I have been noticing Cruz has been trying to assert his independence lately. He has started to push me away when he feels like he wants to do something by himself. And if he is going for something and I try to stop him he crawls like a speed demon when he realizes that I am trying to pick him up.
Of course, if he gets hurt or something I can't pick him up and cuddle him fast enough.
And he still has separation anxiety when he knows I'm going to have to leave him. Sad Face.
But its interesting to watch him come into himself a little bit.
I read that this is around the age that babies really start to take notice that they are their own person and not just an extension of their mothers. Which is definitely true of Cruz. But, upon closer inspection, I've realized that this is also when I start to realize that I am not just an extension of Cruz. That, I too, am my own person. Somewhere along this path of mommahood, I've become so intertwined with my son that I lost sight of the fact that I am separate from him. That I still have interests and aspirations aside from being a mother. Obviously, Cruz will always be my single most important priority, but its o.k for me to start developing myself outside the realm of being a mommy. To date, I get dressed like MAYBE once a week. On a good week. I do my makeup approx. 4 1/3 times per month. Twice being when I had to go to court pertaining to custody issues. The other 2 1/3 times were really just a compilation of half done makeup attempts which usually resulted in me giving up and leaving the house with mascara on one eye and too-dark concealer on the lower half of my face. Basically, I can't figure out why guys aren't chomping at the bit to ask me out (aside from the infant on my hip, the breastmilk staining the nipple regions of my shirt and the underwear line showing through my maternity leggings).
I keep telling my mom, "I'm going to start getting ready everyday!!" And she's like "Ya! You go with your bad self!!" But then I wake up and Cruz needs his diaper changed ASAP. Then I have to force feed him baby food (he is currently rejecting pretty much anything but the breast and butterfingers icecream). Then he needs to get take a bath (resulting from the rejected baby food smeared all over his face and hair). Then lotion, another diaper, getting him dressed, trying to convince him to sit on the bed while I find clean underwear, attending to him because he screamed the entire 27 seconds that I was holding him, trying to find a powerbar to shove down my throat, trying to get my sister to wake up and watch Cruz while I pee REALLY QUICK, I SWEAR, then running from the room before she can protest, and then realizing we are late for playgroup AGAIN.
By that time there isn't really any reason to get dressed or put on any makeup. Because there are never any hot guys at the mommy and me library time (weird).
And after that, well, the days half gone and there is no way I'm putting on makeup just to drive him to his dads and sit in Starbucks for 4 hours (yes its really is 4 hours, not exaggeration).
I used to watch that show "What Not To Wear" on TLC and they would show these ladies who used to go to fashion school and they graduated with degrees in design. And then they had kids and became all frumpy and ran around in sweats from 1982 and Uggs with a hole in the toe. And I always swore "Ohmygawd, I'm, like, never gonna look like that. My kids aren't gonna be brats. There gonna, like, sit in their cribs and play with their toys while I get ready. I'm never gonna be a lame-o ugly mom. Gross"
I'm pretty sure that exact statement has come out of my mother before.
And here I am. Like 2 years later. Sitting on my couch in my pajamas, with no intentions of getting dressed, with a baby attached to my boob, dreading the fact that I'm running late for a playdate.
So, I've come to realize that Cruz isn't actually the only one with separation anxiety. I do as well. To an even more extreme extent, I think.
He is learning to get down and do things on his own. That its ok for him to play with his toys by himself. He doesnt need me right there.
And I am learning that I'm having a really hard time with that. I have become accustomed to him needing me for EVERYTHING. When, in reality, there are some things he can do on his own now. Which is a very bittersweet. It frees up time for me to finally start the getting ready. Or attempt the ever eluding process of makeup application. But it makes me a little (ok, a lot) sad that he is starting to get bigger. Prominently bigger. So far all the "getting biggers" were things like smiling, rolling over, eating mashed up bananas, sitting up. Things that were exciting, but didnt necessitate me giving up any slack on the reigns. And now that time is starting. He is learning to walk and talk and grab things and hit and bite. And its scary. And amazing. And beautiful. And I love it. And I hate it.
And I know that its never going to stop.
God willing, he is going to continue to grow and change and be less dependent every day from this day forward. I love him so much and I just want to keep him as my little baby forever and ever. But, I know thats not possible. And I know that he is right on track. Learning and growing.
And so am I. Learning to let go a little and growing with him as he becomes more amazing and independent every day.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll start wearing mascara on both eyes.