I hate goodbyes. I don’t mind ‘see you later’s’ or ‘until next time’…but goodbyes simply suck.
“How old did you say your daughter was?”, asked my therapist gently during one of our sessions. “She’s all of 3, going on 13” I responded with pride and a glint in my eye from how witty I thought I was.
“Oh” she said, surprised. “I’m just going to point out that you still keep referring to her as ‘the baby’.”
Holy guacamole. It’s true, she wasn’t a baby anymore. It’s also true that I hadn’t reconciled with the 1000 goodbyes I’d had to say watching her grow,
Goodbye little tiny nest bed, my baby has outgrown you. Farewell baby bath tub, we don’t need you anymore. Adieu green and white food masher – my baby now has a full set of teeth and eats what we eat. So long baby high chair – she’s too big for you now.
I could reconcile with saying goodbye to things. But how does one reconcile with saying goodbye to your baby, even when she’s still with you, again and again and again? How does one live in both worlds – memory, and change?
Every growth spurt brought with it the joy of visible growth – a bigger baby, a longer baby, a crawling baby, a walking baby, a talking baby…
But hey where did that tiny egghead go? That little bundle of drool cooing beside me, nestled comfortably and entirely on my one tired arm? Where did that baby go who used to howl and kick and scream every time I’d lay her down on the cold steel weighing machine at the doctors office, celebrating every 100 grams that she would gain? That baby who would look to me for guidance and reassurance with every wobbly step she took? That baby who finally slept through one full complete night without waking up to seek me every two hours? That baby who would whisper ‘papa’ like it was sacred holy grail, and yelled ‘mama’ as if it was the call bell to summon her retinue the minute she learnt to say the word?
Where is that baby in the pram who my neighbours saw grow inch by inch, and every comment and bump in was about ‘how big she’s growing’?
Wait for a moment will you, my love? Why the rush to grow so soon? I see you in the archives of my phone, in your many different looks and sizes and I know I never said goodbye to ‘that’ baby in that picture or video. ‘That’ baby that I’ll never see again.
I see her now, all of 3… a tiny little person who goes to school. Who has her own schedule. Who does her own things. The paradox of motherhood baffles me. I need her to grow. But I want her to stay unchanged.
I hug her close. She’s bigger than she’s ever been, yet the smallest that she’ll ever be.
‘Pass me the ‘remtoe’” I say to her, and pat she responds, the “‘remote’ is here ma!”. Sigh. When did she figure that out? “I’ll take you to farty- fo (44, my parents house number)”, ‘yes mama, let’s go to forty four’ double sigh.
Maybe she understands the game I’m playing, maybe she doesn’t.
“There’s a pangwin in the book Keonna”. She smiles. “Yes, it’s a cute pangwin ma”.
She must one-up me now.
“Look ma, there’s a red Tom-to in this book” The tomato in the book stares back at me. “Yes my baby, that indeed is a Tom-to”, I grin from ear to ear, until the next goodbye.
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