It’s Winter, Babies
It’s cold and it’s dark and my babies are growing up!!
Oh my god, this winter has been soo longgg already, hasn’t it?
Way too cold and way too dark (literally, but also figuratively for ~gestures vaguely around~). It’s just rough out there.
And yet...
And yet, two very wild and important things have happened over these past few winter weeks:
In late December, my smushy, magical angel baby turned one. Um, excuse me, what? That is literally insane. See also: what is time, where did it go, etc., etc.
In early January, my older kid turned seven. SEVEN. I’m sorry, is that legal? I was not consulted, and I certainly did not approve of that!
I make that kind of “don’t-grow-up” joke all of the time to my older kid, R. It’s one of our well-worn schticks that we’ve been doing in some variation for years, kind of like:
Me: “I’m sorry, but you have to stop growing. You are way too big! I did not say it was okay. You’re supposed to stay small!”
R: “Mommmm, I can’t! I have to grow!!”
Me: “Are you sure, though? What if you just go back to being 4? Maybe 5? Just for a few weeks?”
R: [eyeroll, laughing] “MOMMM, I can’t do that!!”
Me: “Okay, fine. You can grow just a little more… but then that’s it!!”
Honestly, it’s been a funny shift for me as his mom—being an early childhood educator and watching him grow up and out of my area of expertise. My degree technically covers up to age 8, but aside from a four-week student-teaching stint with first graders back in 2017, I’ve never worked with children over the age of five. My sweet spot is really babies and toddlers through age three, so I’ve already been running on educational fumes with him for a little while now.
For a time, my husband and I joked that I could whip out my early childhood trump card—“This is how it is! I know what I’m talking about!” But honestly, most of the time, I’m just as bewildered as everyone else. Because even when you know a lot, it’s a completely different story when it’s your own kid, in your own home. It’s not theory, methodology, or best practice—it’s history and blood and legacy. It’s your family’s blessings and baggage, your own triggers and character flaws staring back at you… with your own face. Or your husband’s. Or some shape-shifting combo of the both of you, mixed with your parents, siblings, and maybe like, a random uncle. It’s trippy.
And now I can’t even pretend I know what I’m doing. I keep telling my husband, “My experience card has expired! I’m just as clueless as you now!” (He loves that, I’m sure!)
This past year, R has gone from our “big little boy” to our “little big boy.” He became a big brother, moved to a whole new town, and started at two new schools. What a completely wild year for him! It’s been hard, of course—as it should be with all of that change—but it’s also been great.
He’s been great.
Some days, he absolutely stuns us with his humor, insights, observations, and understandings—just his utter and undeniable growth. And then, in the next breath (or the next full-volume, burn-it-down meltdown and/or doesn’t-even-make-sense poop joke) he reminds us just how little he still is.
It’s such a transitional age. So much shifting ground.
Another one of our recurring bits goes along the lines of:
Me: “You know, no matter how old you get you’ll always be my baby.”
R: “I won’t be a baby!”
Me: “Not a baby, my baby! Even when you’re a grown up, you’ll be my baby. It’s just how it is!”
R: “Even when I’m in college? Even when I’m daddy’s age?”
Me: “Yep! Sorry! My baby forever!”
R: [eyeroll, laughing] again and again
The other day, we were driving somewhere, in no rush. He asked me how old he’d be when he goes to college, drives a car, or even just gets to sit up front with me.
As we talked about all his future ages and stages, he paused for a moment and said, “Mom, I’m not a little kid or a big kid. I’m in the middle. I’m a medium kid.”
Through the rearview mirror, I looked at his truly adorable face—wild red curls, big cute glasses, some schmutz on his cheek (does any food ever actually make it into his mouth without first colliding into his face?!).
I smiled at him. My sweet, funny, medium boy.
So big, so little. And me, in awe, along for the ride.
On the other hand, the baby is growing directly into my area of expertise! How fun for me, and how annoying for my husband that I get to pull out my early childhood card once again.
Right now, the baby is rounding the corner to 14 months. (Please refer to the above “excuse me, what?” and repeat it ten more times in disbelief.) He is a babe on the move—scooting, standing, grabbing, eating, throwing, pulling, babbling, laughing, clapping, high-fiving, waving.
He uses our pant legs to pull himself up to stand, hugging our legs so tightly, like a tiny baby koala. He puckers up for kisses, or more often, just shoves his open mouth onto ours, over and over again. He babbles to us long, serious stories that sound like “ah bee do bah mi!”to which we reply, in earnest, “Is that right?! Bah di boo mi??”
It’s the best.
He’s cruising smoothly down the easy-baby-to-wild-toddler pipeline. Long, languid afternoons of cozy, sleepy, newborn chill have given way to a tornado of newfound energy. Some days he is like a whirling dervish of limbs and determination, desperate to get into everything he should not—cabinets (dangerous), toilets (gross), my discarded mugs of cold milky tea (delicious, but caffeinated):
Holding him can feel like holding a coiled spring—he is all potential energy, ready to leap.
He watches his big brother run and play with an intensity that says, just you wait, we’re about to fuckin party.
The other day, as I watched the baby stretch his little body into a perfect yoga sun salutation, complete with three-legged dog and what I’m pretty sure was a very impressive pigeon pose?, I realized he might be closer to walking than I’d previously realized.
Immediately, I flashed back to R’s first steps: mid-spring, 2019, 15 months old, in Parc du Mont-Royal, Montreal. (How very international of him!)
It felt perfect at the time—him learning to walk just as the earth came alive again, his development mirroring the world around him, each one opening up and out.
Since my boys’ birthdays are just two weeks apart, I can feel that same rhythm unfolding again. We’re deep in winter now—cozy, homebound, maybe (definitely) a little stir-crazy. The baby is so close to making his next big leap, still preparing himself in the “before,” but I can tell that when the world warms up, he—and we—will be ready to go.
I keep daydreaming about walking down the street this spring with a newly toddling kiddo, hand in hand, picking up his big brother at the bus stop—no jackets, no hats, no mittens. Just warm air, sunshine, and no need to rush back indoors. It’s my light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel image, the inspiration that keeps me trudging through the cold.
Still, I’m doing my best to stay present, too. We’ve been cocooning and nesting in our new home—putzing around, hanging art and curtains, adjusting pillows and lamps. I’m grateful for these long hours of stuck-inside-time, even if the upcoming forecast of even more snow and freezing temps might just send me over the edge.
Some other things that have been helping: I jumped in the ocean last weekend along with hundreds of other lunatics. That’ll do something to ya. I’ve been aiming to take a walk (solo or with stroller) in the fresh, cold ocean air as close to daily as I can manage. I’ve started swimming laps again!
I light candles, wear my softest, warmest clothes, and stream Netflix’s Fireplace For Your Home more than I’d like to admit. (R says, “the fire again?! Really?” but it helps!!)
I’ve been scrolling way less (no more TikTok!) and therefore reading, writing, and planning way more. Suddenly, I have about six different notebooks going—ideas for posts, projects, classes, stories, plans big and small, just pouring out of me. You’ll see some of these ideas here soon!
I think that is what winter is for. The rest before the action. The before before the after.
I am reminded of something Katherine May writes in Wintering, about treating ourselves with care in this season. Maybe it’ll help you, too—
When I started feeling the drag of winter, I’ve began to treat myself like a favored child: with kindness and love. I assumed my needs were reasonable, and that my feelings were signals of something important. I kept myself well-fed and made sure I was getting enough sleep. I took myself for walks in the fresh air, and spent time doing things that soothe me. I asked myself: what is this winter all about? I ask myself: what change is coming?.
The winter is long and cold, but it’s temporary—and essential. It’s all part of the natural balance, the ebb and flow of life. The seeds we plant now—the long stretches of time spent at home with our kids, with books, with ideas, with our thoughts and our dreams—will someday, one day, bloom.
The baby is preparing to walk and talk, and R keeps growing bigger and bigger (no matter what I say!). I’m getting myself ready for what’s next, too. A burst of energy is on its way.
When we finally step outside into the warmth of the sun again, we’ll be ready.
I’ll leave you today with two versions of the same song, both so, so good, both so perfectly *the vibe*. It is impossible to pick which one is better, but you can try:
I’d love to hear from you!! Please let me know if anything resonated with you and tell me—how are you surviving this next month or two of winter? Give me your best tips xx
Danielle, this is so good. You have an uncanny (and beautiful) ability to tap into nostalgia while the moment is still happening. It’s a true gift.
"It's the time of the season
When love runs high...."