A week ago at bed time Jack and I got to talking about the origin of the knitted blue afghan that covers the foot of his bed (and often him) during his evening slumber. I explained it was his special baby blanket, handmade by a best friend of his Nana. I then opened his baby book to show him pictures of himself as a tiny baby, fingers curled through the purposeful holes of the very same blanket. He was surprisingly delighted to linger with me amidst the pages of his carefully documented infancy; discovering that he too (not just his little brother) was once helplessly the size of my forearm. We looked at pictures of his Mommy’s enormously pregnant belly, his first plane ride and first bath, then peeked into the envelope holding the locks from his first hair cut.
And now my precious man has, on this very evening, turned 3 years old. I wish I had more words than the parental cliche “it goes so fast”. But I can still feel his tiny 8lb 3oz wrinkles in the curve of my elbow.
Happy Birthday to my funny little monkey.