Friday 15 March 2013
It was bound to happen.
Zinadine and I were reading a calm, lovely, baby animal book that ended with a little person-baby going to sleep, and as I nuzzled that milkweed-down hair of his and said, "Just like my baby. Just like you're my baby", he suddenly straightened up and looked me directly in the eye, and said simply...
"no. i'm big."
and that was that.
Because he is big. With his fuzzy hair, impish grin and wee legs he jumps big, laughs big, talks big, and loves big.
And all of the sudden things are going so fast, even though they always were. And I wish I remembered more, wish I paid attention more, slowed down more. I feel like the something that's slipping isn't going away, but sliding, changing, moving somewhere else, somewhere over there.
And over there has ripped jeans not from falling in the playground, competent hands, amazing homemade-cupcake-making-ability, time needed on her own to recharge, time in the morning spent getting ready, a pressing need for independence, neatly folded clothes, messy playroom, hours spent reading, painting, questions and hopes and anxieties.
They are so good - they are the good, you know?