I have a number of friends with babies right now.

From newborn to the just-starting-to-be-able-to-get-into-trouble phase, I see an awful lot of baby pictures on Facebook. I   hear a lot of baby stories, from the plight of new parents learning to navigate the world in a sleep-deprived haze to the   part-amused, part-exasperated woes of parents whose little ones are newly mobile (and suddenly aware that they can reach stuff   they couldn’t before, like everything from the top of the coffee table to the cat).

I’ve been there; I’ve done that. I listen to or read the stories with amusement and sympathy, and look at the photos with   a smile. I don’t miss the lack of sleep or the constant attempts to keep up with an exploring baby thrilled with new locomotion,   but ... I kind of regret that I (almost certainly) won’t be doing it again.

I never considered myself horribly sentimental about babies. I was nervous with my newborns and was very happy when they made   it to the real interaction stage. That said, with really little ones, it’s just this ... ultimate trust, for lack of a better   phrase. There’s a feeling to holding a sleepy infant in your arms that’s like absolutely nothing else.

These days ... well, my boys might sit with me, for a few seconds, but that’s going to be interspersed with frequent squirming   and commentary on whatever is going on. And it’s not going to last long before they’re off and running, playing, jumping,   being kids. They don’t want to cuddle with mom, for the most part, unless they’re not feeling well (whereupon all bets are   off and cuddles are their right and due).

With older babies, there’s this constant sense of “Oh, wow!” It’s not that older kids don’t have that, but it’s different   somehow with the little ones. My kids might have that reaction to a new amusement park or cool toy ... but an 8-month-old   has that reaction to everyday life, from realizing that she can roll from one part of the room to another to seeing a beloved   family member that she just saw a day or two ago.

Everything is new. Everything is novel. And there’s so very much to discover. It’s a wonderful thing to watch.

But I need to be fair here. The wonder doesn’t go away. It just changes.

My 4-year-old ... newly conscious of things such as age and “big boy” status ... saw his first new release movie in a theater   with me last week. I wouldn’t recommend this for all ... or even most ... kids his age, but I knew he was ready for it, that   he understood proper theater behavior and had the attention span to appreciate it.

And he was.

Aside for some antsy-ness (is that a word?) during previews and a few whispered comments (”Her mommy turned into a bear!)   , he did great ... and loved the movie. And I have a new buddy with whom to go to the theater.

You just can’t do that with an infant.

A day or two later, I took Jim, my 7-year-old who loves water in any shape or form, to visit Niagara Falls for the very first   time ... as in the actual waterfalls, not the city. I’ve already been a bit nervy about taking the kids there, just because   you can get so very close to the brink and the long, long drop below it.

The 4-year-old still wasn’t deemed “safe” ... he can be a bit squirrelly ... but Jim, I thought, was ready.

And he was.

We spent an afternoon out together, my oldest son and I, watching the falls, walking around Goat Island and having a snack   at one of the rest stops. We talked about the “big waterfall!” and while I’m not sure how much of my explanation registered,   he still seemed to think it was fascinating stuff.

You can’t do that with an infant, either ... or you could, but they’re not going to get much out of it at all.

My babies aren’t, well, babies anymore. Not by a longshot. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t new things to discover, or that   we’ll have any less fun in doing so.

And to all the new parents out there: Enjoy it while it lasts.

It moves faster than you would ever dream possible.