16 lbs 9 oz of pure love

Gillian had her 1 year appointment on Monday. It's a bit of hopeful angst that leads up to a doctor's visit...you hope the doctor is pleased with the overall development of your baby, you hope she is gaining weight well, and you hope that she is excelling developmentally. It's really quite strange how the milestone issue weighs on you, even though you know every baby develops at her own pace. I mean everyone wants to think their baby is super smart or super able...and if they don't measure up, maybe it says something about the job you are doing as a parent, and if they do, then it's clear you are doing an extra fine job as a parent. Right?

It happened that I had to take G to the visit (and take off work), which is just fine because if ever there was an anal-retentive Type-A-bordering-on-neurotic Mama, here I am. I have way too many questions to NOT be the one taking her. And the same way I enjoy therapy, I enjoy taking my daughter to the doctor (well, except the immunizations part-we could all do without that). With Gillian, I just want to have my beliefs/theories verified by my super-fabulous doctor, and I could talk about her all day to anyone who will listen, and he's getting paid to listen (and not by me...could it get any better?).

During her exam I felt a lot like the construction worker in "One Froggy Evening"-you know, that Bugs Bunny cartoon where the guy finds this frog with a cane and tophat who can sing and dance, tries to exploit him for money...except the frog simply acts like a frog in front of other people. I answered questions about G's development and eating habits (still annoying), but she sure wasn't interested in showing off any of her fabulous skills. In fact, she even acted afraid (of a latex glove puppet Dr. C. lovingly made for her) when we were there, and she is never afraid of anything.

So, my unease and tinge of frustration for her not being her charming self got me to thinking about why I was feeling the way I felt. Do I want her to be walking and talking and eating like a 5-year-old to prove how advanced she is? Do I want to rush past this precious, sweet stage where she kicks her little legs in pure delight when I walk in the back door after work and gets that brilliant smile on her face, because that's the best she can do to say "i am so happy to see you!"? I'm pretty convinced that reaction is better than words... Why do we put such value in milestones? Is it some ego boost for us as parents, or are we happy to see our children becoming little people? Maybe we, as their parents, simply rejoice in their accomplishments as we undoubtedly will the rest of their lives...

But, when I sit and think about it, I don't care if she isn't drinking only from a cup yet, or pulling up, or trying to walk. I don't care whether or not she is associating words and objects. I want her to be a baby right now, and I don't want to push her to be anything else. When she's 17 and she's broken my heart, and I can never have these days back, these days where she is still my precious baby, will I be sorry she walked at 18 months instead of 12? Or will I think about the cherished moments like the ones we spend every night in the bath and nursing to sleep in the rocking chair? I already feel like she is growing up too fast. I already feel like she looks like a little girl and not a baby anymore. And it's sad...and bittersweet.