One Small Step for Man
Yesterday, my son came to me with his blue stool in his hands. He uses this to reach the sink every night and brush his teeth. I sit there next to him watching him brush and then afterwards, I tuck him in bed.
“Do you know what, daddy? I’m positive I don’t need this any more.”
UGH. My heart rips that he is tall enough to not need a stool.
And ‘positive’? Where the hell did he learn to use that word correctly?
While he still sleeps in batman pajamas and has a room that is decorated in dinosaurs, I know that this world of being a little boy is ending soon. There are nights I sit in his room after he’s sleeping and wonder how many months we have left of it. Being surrounded by fisher price toys and a stuffed monkey make me feel like daddy. This is what I love most of all. Don’t let this end.
I remember those days when he was 9 months old. We’d prop him up with pillows in the family room. Then he reach for something and fall over. He’d cry out to be propped up again only to fall over seconds later. I’d look up to heaven and say, “I hate this stage. Please let him get older.”
God… I was only kidding. I’m not ready for him to grow up. I like my boy little.
He’s going to picking out his own clothes soon. Eventually there will be no more Higglytown Heroes. He’s going be watching those freaking live action shows like Zach & Cody. Buckaroo will be replaced with video games I can’t even play.
My screen saver is filled with pictures of him at all stages in his life. It’s strange to see a little boy who fit in one of those tub rings…or a boy in pull-ups…or a boy who rode a tricycle.
Where is that little guy? I want him back.
And I promise God… I won’t ask for him to grow that fast again