Sometimes I forget how young you are. Maybe because you're so big, or because you're so smart, or because you keep up so well most of the time with your big sister, I forget that you are just four years old. That you practically just came into my life.
I forget sometimes, and remembering always makes my heart ache.
Today when your little pillowy hand reached for mine as I walked into daycare, last night when you said "Mama, I need help", this morning when you were just waking up and your hair was sticking up in every direction and you wanted to stay in bed all day looking at your bunny book.
And my heart hurts because I wonder if I've been too hard on you. Expecting you to behave like a child who is the age I sometimes mistake you for. My chest bursts because you still have the features of a baby. Your full cheeks and button nose, your tiny little tear-drop chin. And my heart falls because you won't be this little forever, and even though I'm right here, always watching you, I feel like I'm still missing it. I feel like the sweetness of this age is too much for me to soak in completely no matter how much I want to, and no matter what, it will be something I don't fully appreciate until it's over, and I am watching you move boxes into your first apartment, or bringing your first serious girlfriend to dinner, or reading the bunny book to your first baby.
I don't want you to be little forever, I won't go that far.
There is a lot that's wonderful about growing up.
So many firsts.
So many special friendships along the way that teach you everything.
First loves that become your most poignant memories as you age.
I just wish that I could stop time, here and there, and press those moments between the pages of a book so I can come back and live them again later.
Later, when you're growing up and growing away.
When you still let me call you my little boy, but we both know, you've become a man.