A Little Treat, Just Because

Monday, April 11, 2005

Little Boy. Little Boy. Little Boy.

If I admit he's a Little Boy and not a baby anymore, that means I'm admitting that he's growing up. Which means he'll be leaving his father and me. Not soon, of course, but sometime. And at the rate time seems to be passing, sometime will be here before I know it. First, he'll go to preschool and then full-fledged, rest-of-your-youth school. And then he'll go away to college. And then he'll get married. So, I haven't wanted to admit he's a Little Boy of Almost Two. But yesterday, his little boyness was confirmed.

Last year at this time, he wasn't yet walking. So, this is the first Spring he's spent in our backyard. There is much at kid-level for a curious Little Boy like him to explore back there--including rocks, twigs, moss, and lots of dirt. (Oy. We'll have to bathe him twice as much as we did before.) Last night, when it was time to go inside, he put down the dead branch he'd been dragging around and shoved his hand toward me, presenting me with a small, grey, juicy slug. Babies don't present their mothers with slugs. But Little Boys do.


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