There are a lot of “wise mommy” blogs out there, that spout wisdom/stuff that is aimed at making you cry. I promise not to go down that path. But, the whole point of this is writing about and processing my reality. Today, that means that Bambino is headed to his first day in the Toddler room of his school.

What does that mean? First of all, he’s no longer a baby. He’s ready for more challenges, more responsibility, and more autonomy. Starting today, Bambino washes his own dishes after lunch (I kid you not). Part of me is thrilled that he’s flourishing. Another part is mourning the loss of that roly-poly peanut who kept me up at 3 AM.

Why? I don’t miss those wake-up calls. I certainly won’t miss diapers. Parents beseech their children to stay small forever. No. Please don’t. I work with disabled children. I have seen the challenges that arise when a child doesn’t grow and flourish. I wouldn’t wish that on you.

Instead, Bambino, do this:

Stay joyful. Jump in puddles. Marvel at butterflies. Laugh loudly. Give hugs in public.

Stay curious. Ask questions. Explore your world. Please do so with fearless abandon. Be open to new experiences, and accept that change happens.

Stay connected. Relationships matter. Kindness matters. Cut-throat is never a compliment. Hard-working and honest are.

You do all these things now. Please, keep them. These thoughts were ricocheting through my head as I made his lunch. Then, the big one hit me. How do I teach him this? By doing, right? Crap. That sounds like hard work.

How often am I joyful? Or curious? Or deeply connected? Why not? I need to take back my childhood. If I want him to keep all the stuff I cherish right now– the exuberance, the fearlessness, the vulnerability– I need to reclaim mine.

Here’s to truly taking baby steps.

It is official. We are certifiably insane. Bambino has been renamed yet again. We shall call him Futbaby. World Cup madness took hold here, and is sticking around.

He wakes up talking about soccer. He sleeps with a ball, on occasion.

Due to his OCD-level of fervor for the beautiful game, we decided to try toddler soccer. Like I said, we are certifiably insane. Toddler soccer involves a group of feral under-3 year olds who run around and generally disregard instructions. My son particularly likes to drop-kick soccer balls when he’s supposed to be sitting attentively in a circle with his coaches.

Honestly, the class is more about physical activity, playing nicely, and being outside. The coaches are infinitely patient and kind. There are a lot of worse things you could do on a Saturday morning.

However, as a child who participated in sports, and lived the competitive sports family lifestyle, I am forced to pause. I am painfully aware that the modern youth sports scene “demands” that kids specialize early, and that the competitive sports world of my childhood now seems idyllic comparatively.

When Futbaby decides he is Hockeybaby, or Dancebaby, or Techbaby, I will support him. This is fun right now. Thankfully, no one is treating toddler soccer like a developmental league. Yet.

So, we will continue to kick goals, watch the occasional match, and sing futbol songs. I found a wonderful children’s book about South Africa, soccer, and the end of apartheid. It is one of Bambino’s new favorites.

Sports can teach us valuable lessons, good and bad. It grabs his attention and imagination. It makes him run, and laugh, and sing. These are the things that childhood should be made of. When it stops being fun, we will find joy in other places. Until then, GOOOOOOL!