The Cutest Age

July/August 2008 Issue | Posted by Susie Lloyd in Back Porch

“What a cute baby. Too bad they have to grow up!”

I’ve heard that more than once from strangers and assumed it was just another one of those worn-out lines about the evils of raising kids. You know — small and cute like a puppy that you can hold in your arms and pet. But watch out! Someday you won’t be able to control it with a choke chain and leash, even if it is wearing one as a fashion statement.

Now is a unique point in my life. At this moment my children span all the phases of development — from young adult down to babyhood. I can tell you this: It’s hard to tell who is the cutest.

Infancy is the most precious age. The seven purest moments of my life were when my children were being born. That fleeting moment when they were halfway between this world and the world of me, and I heard their voices for the first time — their fresh, virgin voices, squalling — always brought uncontrollable weeping from me. My husband delivered them into my arms, and I gazed at their tiny faces for the first time and thought without words: “You are mine. I claim you.”

Love at first sight is hard to beat, but the terrible twos are terribly sweet. In our house this phase can start as early as one and go through age 3.

It is then that personality exerts itself for the first time and proclaims: “I am the center of the universe!” … in bro-ken English. But we can’t blame the child for that. For the duration of this short life, we’ve made those words true.
We’ve bowed down and paid homage to every sound and every movement.

Recently I noticed our 3-year-old playing dress up and said, “Let me see your pretty dress.” She stopped and posed like a runway model, with one hand on her hip. This new self-awareness also brings awareness of her maker. This child learns to pray with confidence. Ours finished her prayer with Jesus’ answer: “Jesus, can you make me a good girl? Sure, I can!”

I must admit ages 4 to 10 are also the most lovable. The child is emotionally open and gives his heart so trustingly. When one of these says, “Oh Mom, I love you so much; I’m so glad you’re my mom!” you feel like you’ve just received a sacrament — unworthy as you are — through the pure gift of grace.

And I love my kids most when they are ages 11 to 13. Recently our 12-year-old began to suspect that there’s this thing called “being cool.” I think it scares her. Does it mean putting away fantasy, magic, and enchantment? I want to put my arm around her and tell her it’s only a phantom, like the monsters in her tales. But she’s too busy telling me how she pretends her bike is a horse and its name is Flash.

But then I must admit that when it comes to cuteness, teenagers compete with babies. They too demand huge gobs of your time, attention, and sleep. Whether they’re out late or just having one of their home emergencies, they expect you to be on duty for it. Once, my daughter came to the sudden realization in the middle of the night that she had nothing to wear. “I have to go shopping!” she whispered desperately into my sleeping ear. The next day such beings wake up surly and grumble over their cereal. They snap at each other across the table. But don’t let that fool you.

The same teen who was “so glad to be going away from this loud, chaotic house where I never get any privacy!” calls home often. The ones who retorted, “Fine, great, but leave the hair dryer!” shut themselves up in the bedroom to talk to her.

For this one brief moment of my life, I’m right in the middle of the growing up that people warned me about. I have to say that I agree with them.

Yes, it is too bad kids have to grow up. Growing up means leaving — a phase that has just begun. The real sacrifice of parenthood lies not in diapers, tantrums, acne, and mood swings. The really hard part is saying good-bye. C

Susie Lloyd lives with her six daughters, ages 19, 17, 15, 12, 7, 3, and one son, age 1, and husband in Allentown, Pa.

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