Friday, November 2, 2012

Firsts. . . .

I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when Bjorn first walked. I remember discussing with The Hubs exactly what his first word was, and I can viscerally feel the same anguish that I felt the first time I left with him at daycare and went to work an overnight trip.

I anticipated all those firsts. I knew they would happen.

What has surprised me is all the firsts that aren't in the baby books.

The first time you tell him it's time to get dressed to go, and he runs into his room, putting on his socks and shoes all by myself. Correctly.

The first time he picks out his jammies, and puts them on for bed. Then takes his clothes for the day and puts them in the hamper. Without you telling him to. Without you even being in the same room.

There are 30 year old men who haven't mastered that.

The first time you pick up the book to read at night, and he sits down beside you and begins reading reciting. He tells you the story, touching the pictures to point at things the way you do, and noticing things you had never told him. He recites exact phrases on some pages, embellishing on other page. And the story becomes even better.

All these firsts happened within the last three days. Three days and my boy is suddenly not so little anymore. I'm starting to somewhat understand why parents sometimes want to stop time. It's all going so fast now. 

But I don't want to stop time. Not really. Because then I would miss the first time he carries a lunch box and backpack to school and the first time he scores a goal in a soccer game and the first time he makes his own peanut butter and jelly sandwich. And those firsts, the ones no one tells you about, those are the ones I like to remember. 


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