"Lasts"

So I burst into tears at the pediatrician’s office today. Did one of the kids get a terrible diagnosis? No. Did one of them need a painful shot? Nope.

I was there simply to pick up their medical files because I’m switching them over to a general practitioner who is male. They are both at that age when they much prefer a guy to a gal. Totally normal. But there was something about knowing that it was my last visit to the pediatrician’s office that undid me. I wanted to throw my arms around those nurses and doctors and thank them for taking care of my babies. We were blessed to get through early childhood with only one health crisis so we didn’t actually have to spend too much time there, but it was always comforting to know I could pick up the phone and call the nurses for advice.

My reaction is a bit of a surprise to me because I’ve never been very sentimental about these matters. In fact, I don’t understand mothers who get all weepy when their kids go off to kindergarten. Seriously? Aren’t you going to enjoy the freedom? When we dropped our boys off at sleep-away camp for the first time, Peter and I yelled “Yippee!” the minute we drove off.

I think it’s just another reminder that the time is flying by and I’m never going to get these days back. Of course, there are days I don’t want back. The ones when I think I’m not going to survive until they leave for college…and they might not either. But there are many days I’d like to have back—some to do over and some to slow down and enjoy again.  

I’ve always been pretty good at marking “firsts.” I’ve got photos chronicling just about every first thing the boys ever did. First time eating carrots. Check. First time putting the toes in the mouth. Check. First time on skates. Check.

But I’m starting to realize that it is the “lasts” that are just as important. And the older they get, the more I’m beginning to pay attention to these things. We have a children’s book about this. The mother lists all the things she will never see her son do again. I can’t read it without getting emotional, and the boys still occasionally ask me to read it to them at bedtime just so they can watch me cry.

It’s a small and somewhat insignificant thing but moving from a kid doctor to a regular doctor is one of those “lasts.” So I pulled myself together and handed over the files to the new doc’s receptionist. Right now, they’re just a couple of names to her. But I felt like saying, “Hey, take care of these babies.”