I was watching one of my friend's babies at The Bean's birthday party and she is so little and so adorable and so excited by being able to wave that I truly wonder where the time has gone. How many days I've spent not paying attention or just doing my thing when The Bean wanted to hang out or me to read to him? How much guilt a parent has about going to work and doing the house stuff and not being with their kids is ridiculous. I know I've got to cook dinner, because he is always telling me how hungry he is, but he wants me to read him a book right now! And I try to find a good work life balance. But the guilt is there. Because at the end of the day, I sometimes just don't want to talk about trains.
Or dinosaurs.
Or the latest edition of awesome - the TV show "Dinosaur Train".
But in my way I guess I'm making time for him. I take him away on adventures. And sometimes not all of the adventure is quality time. But we hang out, 24/7, sharing space and experiences and sights and smells and sounds and company (I'd like to put we share food but my son has not grown into his tastebuds yet and still loves the boring 'kids' menu'. Opting out of certain restaurants in the States for not accommodating such culinary delights as Nuggets and Fries, Cheese and Ham pizza or Mac'n'cheese. Although he did delight in Popcorn Shrimp [or chicken fried shrimp] which delighted and astounded me as I actually lied to him at the time of ordering because the kids' menu at this particular restaurant only had shrimp on the kids' menu and the popcorn was the only close to tantrum-less option I was given). We do spend weeks away from the routine together and I'm not gonna swap that for anything.
But the day to day, scares me how fast it goes.
My baby, who only yesterday was delightfully learning how to wave and eat and crawl and say Mama and walk and dance and run and look at books and listen to cool music and draw and tell me all the names of the dinosaurs, is now a giant human. He will be at school next year. He will get a new bag and a new uniform and a lunch box (filled with hippy treats that he probably won't eat, save for a banana and the cheese sandwich on grainy bread).
He already makes deals with his best friends over who is going to come and ask me for more lollies or cake or donuts or other such horrible sticky things that they only get once in a blue moon. He already runs around outside with these friends and returns only for more drinks or when they're arguing. An extra layer of dirt and weird neck line dust every time.
He's growing up.
Soon he'll be pashing girls and driving and getting drunk and coming home late and going to university and smoking pot and scaring the living shit out of his mother.
Daily. Nightly.
And I'm not exactly sure that I'm ready for that.
Things The Bean has said:
1. I'm cooking.
TB: Are they proper flatbreads? Did you make them with flour?
2. From the couch while reading.
TB: Do you know what I'm going to be when I grow up?
Me: What, baby?
TB: A dad!
Me: Really? That's cool. You want babies?
TB: No, not little tiny babies, or big babies, just kids.
Me: Hahahahaha... They have to start as babies.
TB: Nah. *pause* Do you know what I'm gonna be?
Me *confused*: A dad?
TB: No *points to train*. This one, I'm gonna be this train...
3. After the bath.
TB: I love my tummy.
Me: I love your tummy, too.
TB: Do you love your own tummy?
Me (gah, body issues): It's ok.
TB: No you have to LOVE your own tummy.
Me: Ok, I love my own tummy.
TB: *pause* I have squashed in boobies.
Me: Boys don't really have boobies do they?
TB: No, do little girls have squashed in boobies?
Me: Yup.
TB: Do girls have dangles?
Me: No, only boys have dangles.
TB: No, girls have little tiny dangles, actually.
Me: Nah, just boys.
TB: *pause* But you have to share.
Me: What?
TB: Boys have to share their dangles.
4. A phone call from the child with diagnosed Aspergers to the Papa without a diagnosis.
Me *on the phone to Dad but talking to The Bean*: Now you have to say 'Hello, How are you?' to Papa before you tell him about your new train.
TB: Noooooooooooo! I don't want to say that anymore!
Me: It's good manners.
TB: But I don't like it!
Papa: I can understand that.
5. Bargaining about dinner, I'd told The Bean he had to eat ten more spoons of his dinner before he was finished. After a little while...
Me: Ok, it's only seven more spoons.
TB: No Mama, actually, it's eight.
6.
TB: I'm going to save up all my money to get a hot rod when I'm an adult.
Me: What kind?
TB: A rainbow one.
7. To my friend Dave whose fiancee is pregnant, as I clean The Bean's face...
Me: See you're gonna love this when your bubba comes. You're legitimately allowed to put spit on someone's else's face to make them clean.
TB: It's not clean, Mama, it's ew.
8. Chores.
Me: Can you put the cutlery away, please.
TB: (unspellable whiney noise) Whyyyyyyyy?
Me: Because it's your job and you didn't have to do it the whole time we were in America but now it's back to normal.
TB: *pause* My toe hurts.
Me: Ok, well we'll put paw paw cream on it after you put the cutlery away.
TB: Why?
Me: 'Cause of the yucky mozzie bite.
TB: It wasn't a mozzie it was a crab.
Me: A crab? When did a crab bite you?
TB: It came into the house and bit my toe.
Me: Why would a crab come into the house and do that?
TB: It has nippies.
9.
TB: Where did you get that t-shirt?
Me: At the Soundgarden concert. I went there the other night when you stayed at Ninna and Papa's house.
TB: Hmmm.
Me: Next week I'm going to the Incubus concert, too. Woooh!
TB: Incubus?!
Me: Yup.
TB: When you go you should do lots of random dancing.
10.
TB: I love you.
Me: I love you. Do you know what 'I love you' means?
TB: I know what it means.
Me: What?
TB: It means we're together. And if you don't have a friend that lives with you that's a bit sad.
11.
Me: Did you have a good birthday party?
TB: It was so so so fun!
Me: Awesome. What was the funnest part?
TB: The Route 66 cake!
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