"I cook"

So it's happened.
He's not Mama's Baby anymore. I know, I know~ they grow up too fast. I've witnessed it. I've bemoaned that fact. But it has really hit me this week. I'm not sure if it's the past couple of weeks of full-time work or the craziness of life or just life happening, but with the most recent cold he calls out "DADA" in the middle of the night "DAda." (Which Dada doesn't hear because he's still sleeping!) And Dada has to tuck him in with Monkey and all that rigamaroll. Stories from boring ol' Mom don't cut it anymore. And he doesn't want to snuggle. And I know that I should be Ecstatic that we have this awesome Dada who is more than capable of loving and nurturing and being a SuperDad as he says. Again, I know. But I still feel a bit out of place. I guess jealous sums it up. I'm used to being the one who's kiss is THE ONE that fixes it. And the keeper of the peace.
But I think it's just one of those transitions that I need to accept. The thing about boys that terrifies me: someday- they won't need me. They won't call me to confide in me about a date, I won't be the mother of the bride, I can't be their CampFire girl leader... But, somehow- I hope we still share a closeness. That Father-Son bond is something that I am jealous of, yes, but wouldn't want to tarnish in anyway. We saw a glimmer of what-ifs this week when Daddy's truck was totaled and he walked away- What If we didn't have this man to lead us by example, What If these boys didn't have a role model every day of their lives, What If there wasn't a Dada to tuck us in and love us each minute of the day. Thankfully God just gave us a glimpse- nothing more.

So this morning I start making breakfast and Tyler toddles in in his footie pajamas- and looks up and me "Hi Mom, Howyadoin." And I hear him clear as day- Like a mini-teenager looking up at me. And I say "Good Ty, thanks for asking, would you like to help me cook breakfast." And he gives this head nod that nods his entire body from top to bottom- "I cook." And so he wears a little red apron that matches mine and we get to work on stirring the eggs and placing the toast in the toaster. As he waits for "I pop" when it's done he fiddles with these ridiculous silly bands and looks at me and smiles. And I melt. Just like the low-fat margarine he slathers all over the toast. "I cook" he proudly says.

And it's so silly, but all of a sudden I am so overwhelmed by this proud feeling that he knows that it's time to grow up. Maybe he's been waiting for me to let go of this baby-thing... he knows it's time. I'm the one slowing him back. It's time for him to be one of the boys. It's time for Dada to shine. And it's time for him to be my Big Helper. Like his brothers.

So, dear Tyler, I get it. It's time. Let's go for it. Let's toddle together. But no matter what- You'll always be my baby.