By Christina Marie Bailey

Like every morning since Ben arrived, I find myself knee deep in diapers. My shirt is covered in spit up and the remnant stains of the morning’s first attempts at solids. As I wash the applesauce from my hair, I close my eyes and let the water run across my face.  My cherub is dreaming right now and I am taking advantage of the little reprieve that I have been granted. We have been practicing the art of spoon feeding. It’s the hardest thing we have tried so far. I guess I just thought it would come naturally. Everyone asks about it like it’s a race. I know it’s not mission impossible but deep down I am starting to think he’ll be graduating from high school before he gives up his formula. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “hitting the bottle.”

I have to admit I also will miss the time we share. Don’t get me wrong, I am loving the cereal covered fingers touching everything and him laughing out the little I actually managed to airplane into his mouth. It’s just that I feel like it’s my fault that he doesn’t hold a sippy cup yet or feed himself or change the oil on our van. It’s like no one wants to let babies be babies anymore. “Little Bobby has kindergarten till twelve and then he argues before the Supreme Court at one.” I just want Benjamin to be happy and healthy, even if he can’t write his dissertation yet or negotiate peace in the Middle East.

I’m not saying I want to keep him a baby forever. Quite the contrary, I couldn’t stop it anyway. It’s true I revel in the things he can do every day. His newest trick is rolling onto his back. (Tummy time is almost impossible, but I love to hear him laugh at my attempts.) I want to see him grow and change and learn new things, but I want him to do it in his own time, when he’s ready. Life would be easier if he knew how to balance my checkbook but then he’d want to borrow the car and go out with some girl, and what mother is ready for that? Well, he’s up again and it’s time for another dance with the dish and the spoon, but hopefully he won’t go running away with them just yet.

About Christina Marie Bailey
A writer and a mom, nothing brings more joy than to write what I know best, my son Benjamin. Of course, tears come in both varieties. The joys, and pains, of motherhood need to be heard, and I am going to tell them. Born in Temple, TX, I was shuffled around the country, following my father’s military career, finally settling in Massachusetts. I grew up with my parents and my three siblings, a sister and two brothers. We were, and are still, very close. I attended Westfield High School, graduated from Westfield State College and then obtained my law degree at Western New England School of Law. Due to a my struggle with Bipolar disorder, I am disabled, but still make time to write, which I love to do more than anything else I can think of. When I became pregnant, I faced a new challenge. It was for that reason that I wrote my book “Ride At Your Own Risk: A Guide for Pregnant Women with Bipolar Disorder, and Their Families by Someone Who’s Done It.” Available at Barnesandnoble.com and Amazon.com (ISBN# 1-4489-1620-8), it talks all about the disorder, as well as dealing with being pregnant as well. It is a valuable resource for anyone who has questions about it. Having a history of Bipolar disorder, I was a candidate for Postpartum Depression. Fortunately, knowing all that, I was able to better prepare to deal with it. Many other women are not that lucky. But off my soap box for now. Back to the joys and pains of motherhood, read and enjoy.