There have been lots of changes in our house recently. Liam, as you know, is always in a big hurry to grow up and the last few weeks have been no exception.
First we said goodbye to the baby tub, a gigantic European contraption recommended to me by my cousin when Dylan came home. The entire thing is about the size of our regular bathtub and Liam actually still fits in it. He just doesn’t want to use it, so out the door it went.
Then, Liam decided d he did not want to sit on his high chair anymore, so we got rid of that too. He is now in a booster seat, which he likes, but I think he is just itching to sit on regular chairs without any support, like his big brother Dylan does. And since he wants to be just like his big brother, Liam has now started rejecting sippy cups and wants to drink from a regular cup. He is doing pretty well with them although since I only put in a few drops of liquid at a time, it takes forever for him to satisfy his thirst.
All these changes have made me a little nostalgic, since they so clearly mark the fact that our baby is growing up and we will soon really no longer be in baby territory. But what really pulled at my heartstrings was the fact that Dylan has decided he doesn’t need his beloved security blanket anymore.
When Dylan came home from Kazakhstan, his Granny Vicki took us to Land of Nod to buy a few things for his nursery room. There, she insisted we buy him this mint green security blanket. It was a small square of the softest fabric I’d ever felt, encased in a shiny satin trim. I hesitated, because it seemed to me such a small piece of fabric should not have such an exorbitant price, but she insisted she wanted to buy it for Dylan as a present.
Dylan immediately became attached to his new “Pitita” (we started referring to it as such because that was the name my brother used for his security blanket when he was a kid, and we thought it was cute). As a baby, he would take it everywhere with him, and couldn’t fall asleep without it. If he fell and got an ouchie, if he was upset about something the “Pitita” would make him feel better. Even in his sleep, his little hands would rub the satin edges of the blanket, and if for some reason it fell off the crib or the bed, he would wake up crying, looking for it.
As the years passed, the “Pitita” started looking less and less like a luxurious item and more and more like a piece of old towel. The satin edges became frayed and finally fell off altogether. The soft fabric was washed so much that it seemed to turn into something else. It became such an eyesore that we started establishing rules about where the “Pitita” could be seen in public. In the end, it was confined to Dylan's bedroom and only allowed out for airplanes or long car rides. Still, Dylan loved it.
One day, about three weeks ago, Dylan opened up a drawer on his night table and placed the “Pitita” inside. There it has remained. The first few days after he put the “Pitita” away, I would ask him if he wanted it at night. His response was always “No, I am brave.”
And so the very last item of Dylan’s babyhood has been put away. As proud as I am of my big boy for finally deciding he is old enough not to need his blankie, I am a little sad as well. I am glad he has decided to keep the “Pitita” in his nightstand. Some nights, I catch him opening the drawer and taking a look inside as if to make sure it is still there. I think he finds it reassuring. I do too.
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