Today, a full paragraph. Enjoy.
All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, “Oh, why can’t you remain like this forever!” This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end. (from Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie)
The other day I had a baby. And today he turned two years old. I don’t know what kind of trickery time is playing on me, but I swear he was only just born. Today he sat across the table from me at dinner, feeding himself rice with a fork with impressive precision and saying, “More broccolies, peez,” with his cheeks full. I was struck dumb for a few moments at the sight of him sitting there like a grown up in a grown up chair eating like the rest of us. I mean, just the other day it seems I was eating my dinner one-handed while he drank his at my bosom. (Feeding him was cheaper then.)
And then, after dinner, I made a fatal mistake. I looked back at pictures of him. And videos. And I died. If he was just born the other day, why don’t I remember him being so small? Why does it seem like he’s always been walking and talking and building lego things? I guess he really is two and it really is true what they say about how fast it all goes.
Tonight, while his banana flavored monkey cake bakes, I think I’ll console myself with a few chapters of Peter Pan. Sometimes mamas with growing up boys need the consolation of Neverland.