My Baby is 5 — How did this happen?

So the boy celebrated his 5th birthday last week and I’m still coming to terms with it.

What does this mean for me? Does this mean I can no longer technically refer to him as “my baby?” I certainly hope I won’t be breaking any cultural morays by doing so because I’m afraid there’s no way to give up that habit at this point. And why start now anyway? People have long thought I was missing a few bricks by referring to him as my baby ever since he was out of diapers.

I guess my first incident with this terminology occured 2 years ago (I remember the date, but it’s not like I’m scarred or anything) when a decorator stopped by to inspect the flooring fix her crew had installed and upon hearing me remark about “the baby” looked at Spencer, looked around and then asked with WAY too much confusion (I mean, really people, who is that confused? Seriously!) “Wait, where is the baby?” I guess she was simply expressing genuine concern that I had perhaps either a.) misplaced him or b.) misspoken out of some secret longing to have another baby. WHAT?? Wash your mouth out! (I was totally horrified.)  All I could manage were some wild arm gestures in the general direction of my then 3 year old son while attempting to articulate that there, (THERE, darnit) . . . is my baby!

The thing is, despite my protestations, he continues to grow up and there’s nothing I can do (or would do) to stop him!  But I really do have to wonder if it’s not a latent result of some of the company he keeps.

(I mean really, who came up with this disturbing mantra anyway? C’mon Disney! Stop filling our young son’s mind with these sorts of ideas!)

And to make matters even more emotional (yes, yes, it really is possible, just ask my husband) our sweet boy just entered the room with a beautiful stem of yellow (his favorite color for the past 5 years) flowering weeds — “here Mom, I found these flowers for you. It’s for you because your rock [last week’s gift] broke.”

MELT! MELT!! I tell you!!

It’s a good thing I’ve got a full year to come to terms with the thought of him turning 6.

*GASPING FOR AIR*

Although I’m not really sure why I’m concerned — he really does seem to have the important things covered.