Too Cute

Matthew is stinking cute these days. It's really, really hard to ignore those big blue eyes in that little round head and that stream of squeaky, logical, insanely sweet ideas flowing from his mouth. He walks like a little man. He dances like a little man. He asks things like, "Iss dis edi-bowl [edible]?" And I just can't contain myself! I sweep him up and kiss his little face before I remember to ask him, "Is today a kissing day?" 'Cuz he doesn't like to be kissed on "non-kissing" days when he's in a bad mood. "I hate kisses!!" he cries.

I told him tonight that we will be traveling next week. He had all sorts of questions. We sat at the dinner table after everyone else had finished and gone. I told him we would need to pack a suitcase for him with clothes and underwear (Ew, Mommy, dass gross *giggle*) and his super soft blanket (Duh one fwum Yahew?! *gasp*). Then he'll need his backpack with toys and games for the long, long drive. Maybe even snacks (Ween cheese? Iss dat a good nack?). He was completely smitten with the idea. Excited. Rapt. Wanting to learn more. James came in for something and left again, then Matthew turned to me and said quickly, "You tell me more about O-I-O? Wight heew? When we all done wif dinnuh?" as if I was going to get up and leave before he had heard enough. He asked about the people there (Iss it duh Weh-bekkah who hits?) and the toys (seatbelts on duh wiggle caws?) and bits he remembered from our other visits there (a soft flor, wight?).

He just wanted to sit and chat, talking about the magical wonders that await us in Ohio. I just wanted to hug him into my heart and keep him like this forever.

People tell me he's cute.

He tells me he is NOT cute.

I'm torn.

I don't want to admit that he's cute.

Cute doesn't stay. If I admit he's cute, then I'm admitting that he won't stay this way, and I start to feel a little sadness creeping in. If I just tell myself, "Well, that's simply Matthew." Then maybe I can enjoy this phase without the creeping sadness...but it's a lie. I know it.

Is it actually possible that I don't want Matthew to grow up? No, I want him to grow up. I want to see him love preschool and talk about his friends and get excited about all the things he will get excited about. I love that part of all my kids growing up...them discovering stuff about the world and themselves. It's my favorite.

Then what is this creeping sadness around the edges?

I suspect, deep down, that I'm a little afraid of the loneliness...the foreign notion of spending chunks of time during the day by myself. It's something I crave now, and envy in my friends with school-aged kids. But. Still. It's unfamiliar. I haven't been truly alone in a predictable way since Alice was born almost 11 years ago. This little kid Matthew is my last little kid. My last little chatterbox that scrunches his nose and growls when he's playing a baby tiger. My last "cute."

And I'm okay with that, rejoicing in it, and still kinda sad about it. We have some years, yet, before he goes to school full-time. I'll take the "cute". Embrace it. Love it while it lasts. It's just my bad luck that this "last" is such an exceptionally cute one ;)