From There to Here: Milestones

by Amy L. Hatch

If you see a woman wandering the streets of Chambana this week, rending her garments and weeping openly, wave and say hi.

Because that woman is me.

This is a huge week in our household, a week brimming with major milestones of the sort that make this mother’s heart swell with pride and break a little, all at the same time.

First up, on Thursday, this girl starts kindergarten:

This baby can't possibly go to kindergarten.

I know! How can she possibly go to kindergarten? She can’t even walk!

*heavy sigh*

I’m in total denial that she’s big enough to start her official schooling. While it isn’t quite as heart-wrenching as it could be — after all, she had full-day pre-K last year — it still feels like the kind of moment that you want to keep and press between the pages of a favorite book.

My baby! In kindergarten!

On top of that, Henry turns 2 on Friday. Two years ago on Aug. 6, at 3:29 p.m., a 9-pound, 12-ounce Babyman made his entrance into this world, wowing both the doctors and hospital visitors that day.

No, seriously. My husband overheard two people in the elevator shortly after Henry’s birth, talking about the “huge” baby born that day.

Yeah. That was my baby.

I was so happy that day, not only because the pregnancy was a difficult one and I was glad it was over. I knew what it felt like to have one child, but holding my second-born in my arms made my heart grow about 10 sizes.

For all you moms out there who wonder if you can ever love another baby as much as you love that first one?

You totally can.

I mean, just look at this kid. He’s adorable. And funny, and smart and very, very fun to be around. He makes me look at the world in a different way, and makes me do things I might not have before.

Like, say, post a photo of myself in a bathing suit on a website.

That water is cold, y'all. Photo by Karen Hatch

He is also still huge. A dad at the playground this week asked me how old he is, and he didn’t believe me when I said the child wasn’t yet 2 years old.

So yes, he’s a big boy — a big boy who is officially Not A Baby Anymore.

In plenty of ways, I’m very, very happy about that. I’m not nostalgic for the sleepless nights and the worries over reflux and constipation.

What I do miss are the endless cuddles, the middle-of-the-night moments when our eyes met in the blue moonlight.

Now, of course, there are different kinds of moments. Like the afternoon in July when Henry and I sat together, at the kitchen table of my mother’s summer home, having a snack.

We had been sitting quietly for some time when he looked up at me and smiled, and told me he loved me, out of the blue.

Be still my heart.

There are days when mothering is very, very hard work. When it is a slog, a count-down to the minute when I close can finally the door after bedtime stories are done and collapse.

Then there are days like these next few, when they shine as brightly as the sun and I am just the moon, tethered to them by the gravity of love.

Milestones, indeed.

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