My little man walks up the steps, dragging his nie-night behind him as he goes. Actually, it's in his mouth as he drags it along. It smells so bad. My first thought is, oh my God that is so disgusting. Not only does the " crunchy" part, the corner that lives in his mouth reek within moments of being plucked from the dryer but it is being dragged across the carpet as he goes. Ok, I think enough is enough.
Then my breath catches inside my throat. My chest tightens and burns for a moment as I notice the lean and lenghtening little body that is dragging that swamp of germs around. He is not a baby anymore. Where did my baby go? The stubby little toes and chubby fingers and cheeks? They are not as noticeably round anymore. Every step higher seems to take him further away from babyhood. " What?" He says, because he seems me looking. " Nothing bud." " WAAA" he screams in his very loud but completely on-the-spot comedic way of his. His words, his precious words: wamwance (ambulance), nemanade (lemonade), booberry (blueberry of course). They are now the words of a little boy very well spoken in phonetics. am-ba-lence. lem-ma-nade. blu-ber-e. You can keep your stinky nie-night as long as you like my little man. Because all that time I wished for faster has caught up with me and is slapping me in the FACE! Now, I will wish; " Slow down! Please slow down," and it will only make time move all the more quickly.
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