Bye-Bye, Baby! My Little One's Growing Up Doesn't Get Me Down

Last week, my 13-month-old son went from tentatively taking a few steps to being a full-blown walker. The transition was fast but unsurprisingly so, since my little man seems to enter every new stage with gusto and greet any physical challenge with so much relish that I'm already counting down the days until our first trip to the ER. With his new walker status also comes the realization that he's become a toddler, which also means that I no longer have a baby. And, truthfully, I'm not sad about it one bit.

Sure, I read all those sweet parenting essays mourning each stage as if crib sleeping, diaper wearing, and breastfeeding were full of only positive memories, with nary a sleepless night, major blowout, or cracked nipple to be found. Sometimes I even feel myself relating to the sadness and nostalgia, but mostly I just think, "Man, I'm so happy to be done with that." Of course, I've loved my kids since the day I found out they had taken up residence in my belly, and I've found things to appreciate about each stage of their short yet utterly transformative (for me, at least) lives. But, I'll admit — I'm not really a baby person.

To me, the most exciting part of parenthood is watching your little ones connect the dots. One day my 3-year-old daughter can barely draw a circle, and I swear, the next she can write her name next to a pretty decent drawing of a snowman. One day she refuses to get dressed without my help, and the next, she's putting on her own shoes and coat without me even having to ask (I swear it's happened at least once). It's so exciting to watch cognitive and physical advances in her, but at no time are these giant leaps in understanding and awareness more obvious than during the toddler stage. Suddenly, my son isn't just walking; he's giving me high fives and unsolicited kisses and real hugs. He can tell me what snakes and bears say. He can dance and blow bubbles on bellies and "read" books. To me, this is where the real fun of parenting begins.

I've always said that 18 months was my favorite age with my daughter, but truthfully, almost two and a half years later, I had pretty much forgotten why. My son has helped me remember. This is the stage when you can see them turning into the child they will become, and it's kind of exhilarating. When my daughter was 15 months old, we took her to my cousin's wedding, where she dominated the dance floor and ran around without a single bit of inhibition, not once looking to see if her dad and I were watching or even nearby. Random wedding guests kept saying, "She's adorable, but you're in trouble when she's 15." We laughed then; she was our first, and we assumed all 15-month-olds were as fearless and party ready as she was. Now I know that's not true (my son is much more reserved), but she was showing us her true colors even at that young age. Now that she's almost 4, she's still happiest on the go, she's still independent as hell, and I'm pretty sure she's going to be a nightmare when she's 15.

Some things I can already tell about my son. He'll probably always have a voracious appetite (28 pounds and counting). I'm hoping he'll stay as sweet and loving as he is now. And yes, he'll probably end up with a broken bone or two. But now that he's no longer a baby, I can't wait to see what else he's going to become. To me, that's the best part of being a parent: not caring for the baby they so shortly are, but nurturing and often just observing the person they're going to be.