Where have you gone?

Tonight I rocked a nearly one-year-old to sleep. As her eyelids fluttered down, it hit me. You were here just eight short months ago. You were making the same mousey sounds while slurping your bottle down like a marathon runner at a water stop. This was you curled up in my arms kneading my hand cuddled in so tight.

This was you.

And now...you don't take a bottle. You look me in the eye and say "night, night" when you want to go down. You ask for your "ba-ba" which is just a sippy cup full of milk. You hurl it across the room when you're done (which usually results in milk splatters everywhere). You only enjoy being held when you're sick which is bittersweet for the two people who love you the most. You still need me, but you don't NEED me like you used to.

They told me this would happen. It would be gone with the blink of an eye. You would be a young man before I knew it. And they were right. You are growing like the ridiculous weed in the front yard that was nearly the size of a small tree this morning. The weed I can't seem to pull because it somehow reminds me how fast life unfolds.

This was you. This will always be you: the tiny baby who taught me the true meaning of life: humility, kindness, patience and a love so deep it hurts.

This was you.