Tag Archives: 11 months old

Mommy Meltdowns: When Your Baby Isn’t a Baby Anymore

30 Sep

I’m completely in love with my IKEA rocker. In preparing the nursery, I ran across a blog combining an IKEA chair with a rocker attachment, and I just had to have it! I loved this rocker from the first time I sat in it, and I knew this is the spot I’d rock our sweet son to sleep at night.

Waiting for Baby to Arrive for the First Rock

Waiting for Baby to Arrive for the First Rock

But when Reece was born with acid reflux, the rocker saw more screaming than sleeping, from both me and Reece! PoppaNut found me there a time or two when he came home from work, and I’d be crying in frustrating not knowing how to soothe our little one who was obviously fighting his own pain.

But as we figured out the cure to Reece’s aliment, the rocker turned into a place of peace. I’d rock with Reece just before bed, using this quiet time to say our prayers and cuddle. I’d watch as he played with his little curls, wrapping his tiny finger around each ringlet as he finished his bottle. I’d feel his warm breath on my hand, completely in amazement that we made this amazing child. PoppaNut would stand beside us, giving us each kisses and saying goodnight. And on hard days, this would be the place where Reece and I would find happiness again, each forgiving each other for whatever “mistakes” we’d made and we’d promise to do better tomorrow.

Falling in Love With Reece's Tiny Fingers While We Rock One Night

Falling in Love With Reece’s Tiny Fingers While We Rock One Night

As Reece has gotten older, things have changed. Our 11-month-old no longer has the most perfect whale mobile above his crib, which also now resides in the lowest position available. In fact, Reece ripped the mobile down himself in an “I’m not a baby anymore, Mom … Get this freakin’ whale deal out of here” rage of defiance. We are also now greeted by a standing toddler each morning, rather than a burrito-wrapped infant.

Now, We Are Greeting With a Standing Baby

Now, We Are Greeting With a Standing Baby

The onesies have been replaced with 18-month “real” T-shirts and the footie pajamas have been swapped for matching two-pieces. The rattles and teethers that used to make Reece so happy are collecting dust wherever he last threw them. Instead, matchbox cars and shape sorters keep him entertained. His whale tub is on the verge of retirement (probably should’ve happened a month or so ago but I can’t bear to send that to storage, too) and now rides to daycare in a “big boy” seat.

I’ve packed up Reece’s most iconic baby clothes — his first Frankenstein Halloween PJs he wore in the hospital, his baby-blue going-home outfit, his turkey butt pants from Thanksgiving, his elf costume from Christmas, his Yankee hat — and I’ve lined his closet with his upcoming sizes in preparation for the next growth spurt.

PoppaNut Holding Reece in His Halloween Jammies

PoppaNut Holding Reece in His Halloween Jammies

But in all this changes, one thing in the room has remained constant: the rocker. The rocker is there each night, ready to snuggle us together once again. It caps off the end of our day together before we get to spend the rest of our evening with some much-needed alone time.

And The Rocker Remains ...

And The Rocker Remains …

PoppaNut knows this chair is important. So, on an unassuming weeknight, PoppaNut and I are discussing the latest details in our master-bedroom renovation (more to come in a later post), and he points to an empty corner: “I was thinking this would be a perfect place for your rocker … I know how much you love that chair so I thought we could add it into our bedroom.”

Tears are probably not the most anticipated response from such an innocent idea, but that’s exactly what happened. I didn’t even have time to really digest the idea … the tears just flowed like running water with a babbling of words: “But that means Reece doesn’t need me anymore and he’s not a baby anymore and that’s our snuggle time. I’ve already packed up his baby clothes and did you see him rip down the mobile? I know we are supposed to teach him and watch him grow wings but, he’s only 11 months old and I’m not ready to start letting go …”

PoppaNut’s face went completely white … and I imagine his internal dialogue went something like this: “What the heck is happening?? I didn’t ask her to give Reece up for adoption, did I? No, I think I was just talking about moving the chair. Yes, I’m sure of it. I mean, I thought she loved the chair and I thought she would love having it in the room. I didn’t know the waterworks were going to pour out. What do I do? Ok, I need to say something here because she’s still crying and babbling incoherently at this point.”

PoppaNut wrapped his arms around me, letting me cry a little longer just to get the emotions out, before gently saying, “You can rock him as long as you want to, baby. You can leave the rocker just where it is for as long as you want. But if you do want the chair in our bedroom, you can still rock Reece before bed in there. There’s no rush.” And with a few more hugs and kisses, this crazy momma finally settled down.

Our Big Boy

Our Big Boy

And now a few days later, I can laugh at myself. Did I need to have a full mommy breakdown over a rocking chair? No. Now that I’ve cried it out, can I move the rocker into our bedroom? Maybe. I know eventually I’ll need to put on my “big girl” pants and let our little one turn into the boy he’s meant to be. But until he’s in his “big boy” pants — which I’m defining as size 2T — I’ll just let us both be babies for a little while longer. And that’s life in a nutshell.


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