Branching Points
By Lisa Benter Rich
“Sometimes, branching points aren’t dramatic or traumatic or ecstatic. Sometimes, branching points are small and seemingly insignificant.
When did I stop buying diapers and pull-ups? I don’t know. One day, they were all potty-trained and wearing their big boy Under-roos. Thomas the Train, Batman, Blues Clues. The diapers and pull-ups were obsolete. And then, one day, the cartoon character underwear were obsolete, and they were wearing boxer briefs in solid colors.
When did my youngest stop needing help wiping his butt? With three boys born within a four-and-a-half-year span, I spent a lot of time changing diapers and wiping butts. My youngest seemed to need help longer than the other two. His preschool teacher told me to stop helping him and make him do it himself. But when he would call out from the bathroom, “Mommy! Come wipe my butt!” and I walked in to see him pantless, bent over with his tiny little butt in the air, what else was I supposed to do? I was supposed to say “Owen, you are big enough to wipe your own butt.” And I did say that, but then I wiped it anyway. And then, one day, he stopped asking for help. Just like that, I wasn’t needed.
I do distinctly remember when my oldest stopped using kids’ shampoo. We were in the shampoo aisle of Target, and I asked if he wanted Cherry Berry Suave for Kids or Blueberry Bliss Suave for Kids. And my boy, all of nine years old, confidently told me that he didn’t need kids’ shampoo. He was ready for the grown-up shampoo. I actually cried in Target that day. Tears over tear-free shampoo. The irony!
When did they stop believing in Santa? I’m not entirely sure. But I do know that it was not the year that my oldest was gifted a four-foot tube of bubblegum from Santa. Shortly after Christmas, I was driving him and his friends to a birthday party and they were discussing Santa Claus. There was a lot of back and forth regarding his real-ness. Finally, my son told his friends he knew Santa was real because Santa brought him a ginormous tube of bubblegum and “my mom would never do that!”
When did they stop doing arts and crafts in the playroom? I always had a playroom stocked with construction paper and glue and glitter and rubber stamps and ink pads and scissors and other assorted craft supplies. They didn’t stop doing arts and crafts the day my middle kid ran upstairs needing paper towels because there was a “glue kersplosion”. But they stopped crafting one day. I just don’t know when.
I distinctly remember when my oldest stopped assembling LEGO kits. He was about 15. I wanted to get him the latest Star Wars LEGO for Christmas, and he said “Mom, no girl is going to date a boy who still does LEGO.” For the records, once he was engaged, he was happy to be gifted LEGO kits again. He’s happily married and has a LEGO room in their basement.
When did they stop demanding chicken nuggets and become adventurous eaters? They are all willing to try new foods, explore different cuisines, and even attempt cooking some. They can use chopsticks as easily as they can use forks and spoons. The days of chicken nuggets and Annie’s Organic Mac and Cheese have gone by the wayside.
When did they stop wearing light-up sneakers with Velcro? When did they start wearing OnCloud tennis shoes they buy with their own money they’ve earned from their grown-up jobs?
When was the last night I needed to read five books and tuck them in with their teddy bear and leave the door slightly ajar so they could see a tiny bit of light?
When did I stop checking their toothbrushes to confirm they really did brush their teeth? And remind them to wash – with soap – in the shower? Wait – when did they stop taking bubble baths and playing with bath toys?
When did my youngest stop having the toe seams of his socks “bother”? When did I stop using cuticle scissors to cut the little bumps out of the toe seams?
When did they stop having playdates? At some point, I was told that they were too old for “playdates”, but they would “hang out” with their friends.
When did they stop wearing the little jeans with the elastic waistbands? Or the jeans that had the adjustable elastic with buttons so you could cinch them small enough to fit their tiny waists?
When did they grow up and start worrying about me instead of (or in addition to) me worrying about them? If I don’t answer my phone or respond to a text from one, I have all three of them trying to make sure I’m ok.
When did my little boys, who needed me for anything and everything and nothing, suddenly become independent adults who are navigating the world on their own?
Everyone tells you to enjoy the time because it goes too fast. But when you are in the weeds of motherhood, the days sometimes drag on forever. Until suddenly, they are gone. And you have missed so many “lasts”.
