Smiles, tears as children find new direction

The greatest joy in a parent's life is when her child finally learns to do something important -- walk, tie his shoes, put the toilet seat down -- that kind of thing.

But those milestones bring their regrets, too. (Except the toilet seat one.) When he starts walking, you no longer have the excuse to carry the cuddly bundle everywhere. When he learns how to tie his shoes, you no longer have an excuse to play "chase the bunny" with the shoelaces and listen to your child's wild giggles.

I remember the first time my youngest one made a phone call all by himself, calling me at work. I was proud and tickled and relieved that he had conquered this essential aspect of living in the modern world.

Ten minutes -- and 43 calls -- later, I was having second thoughts.

But then I have a lot of worries about Buzz and the modern world. He inherited my mother's sense of direction -- none whatsoever. He takes walks with my best friend, his Godmother, several times a week. He was bored the other day, so I told him to go outside.

"You can take a walk without Brenda," I said.

"Not if I want to get back," he said.

Buzz may be the only 10-year-old in his school with a GPS attached to the handlebars of his bicycle. He may not have a clue about left, right, north or south, but electronics he's got down cold.

The learning dilemma becomes more obvious the more children you have. It starts early, and it's one of those things that you can only really appreciate by having more than one child. You have to build a frame of reference. When Scott, our oldest, was a baby, we were like every other set of parents in the world. We constantly encouraged him to sit up, to crawl, to walk. It was so exciting to see his progress and watch him grow and learn to bump and stumble his way around the house. We didn't need that lamp, anyway. Or that antique teapot. Or the cat ...

We were just as excited to see Ben, the second child, take those same developmental steps, but I confess, we weren't quite as encouraging. By the time Buzz came along, it was a totally different story.

"Look, Mary, Buzz is walking," my husband said, his voice oddly subdued.

"No. He's not," said I, the queen of denial. A gentle nudge eased my baby back onto his padded behind. "See? He's not walking. Not yet. Please. No."

There are some things my sons have learned I wished they hadn't, with "No!" and "Pull my finger" topping the list. I also wished my oldest hadn't learned to drive -- not because he's not any good at it, but all I ever saw of him after that was a puff of exhaust on the distant horizon. I wish my middle son had never learned about hair conditioner. He doesn't realize what I spend on his hair care products would be a nice chunk of change in his non-existent college fund. PLUG ALERT: As soon as his internship with the Tennessee Shakespeare Festival in Bell Buckle is over ("Romeo and Juliet" opened this weekend and continues through the next) his flowing tresses are getting truncated.

I was so glad when Buzz finally learned how to take showers and baths by himself, but at the same time, I miss making him moose antlers out of bubble bath foam. And someone please tell me why children can't learn that "taking a shower" doesn't mean "taking the shower with you when you leave, dribbling great puddles across the bathroom and down the hall."

One of my coworkers had a baby boy last week and she brought him in for a visit. Two other coworkers are expecting, and part of me envies these three women with babies on the way. There's so much to learn -- for mothers and babies -- and so much fun to be had.

I looked at that beautiful, precious, sleeping baby boy and I thought, "In 10 minutes he's going to be awake and hungry. In 20 minutes he's going to need a diaper change. In 10 months, he's going to be pulling himself up, and everything else down. In 10 years, he's going to be calling her on the phone just to tell her he knows how to call her on the phone."

I didn't feel envious any more. I just sighed, and smiled, and felt content.

Been there, done that, got the phone bill to prove it.

­-- Mary Reeves is a staff writer for the Times-Gazette. She can be reached by e-mail at mreeves@t-g.com.