Learning to let go.

   Today was the first day I have ever let Balian eat on his own. We had a late dinner due to me being camera happy and locking us out of the house. We sat down to eat, me with my chicken, shallots, and mac and cheese, Balian with his turkey and rice baby meal thing, and Balian immediately started fussing. This has become a nightly occurence with him. If I can get the spoon in his mouth then we are okay (at least for a few minutes), but it can be a near impossibility. Once he sees the spoon coming, he buries his face in the side of his high chair. So tonight, I tried something different, something I've put off doing for various reasons I'll explain in a moment. Spurred on by a picture of a friend's baby happily covered in food after feeding himself, I passed Balian his little bowl and the spoon.

He had a blast. The fussy little boy that had been just a few minutes disappeared as this new boy took his place, happily testing out a new found independence that I've been denying him.

I've been telling myself, as well as others, that the reason I have not let him eat on his own is because of mess. Babies, in general, once they start learning to feed themselves, become very messy. I dislike mess, mainly because I'm lazy and mess means that I have to clean, and I hate cleaning. However, as I ate my dinner and watched Balian mainly play in his, I realized that the mess was not the real reason I haven't been letting him be more independent. It's because I'm not ready to let go. I'm not ready to let go to the little baby that depended on me for everything. I'm not ready to see him take his first steps. I'm not ready for him to no longer need me.

It's a bittersweet moment that every parent goes through, watching their children grow and become adults, right before our eyes, seemingly in a matter of minutes instead of years.

Today, while we were driving down the road, I stuck my hand over his seat to play with his hair. He reached up and grabbed my fingers and just held them. I stroked his little fingers with my thumb, enjoying the moment. When I stopped caressing them, he started moving his fingers over mine, copying what I had been doing moments earlier. I nearly started to cry. This is my little boy, my angel, sometimes demon. He loves what I love and craves for my attention. I'm not ready for this to end.

I'm not ready to let go and let my baby grow up. It's happening, though, whether I'm ready or not.