Who is this child? I’ve been asking myself often.
Last week, I spent every moment with Boychild, owing to a perfect storm of illness, a daycare provider retiring, and our new provider taking vacation. Oh, and I’m still unemployed. But it worked out well! We had an overall great time, but I’m suffering whiplash at all these changes in him. I swear, I can actually hear him growing. Or maybe that’s him jumping on the bed. He’s now too large to really fit in the crook of my arm, and his chubby, stumpy-stump legs are growing leaner and longer by the second. I used to marvel that he would ever be able to wear size 3T pants. (I’d often wear those 3T pants on my head like a Court Jester because I’m a fun mom. A fom? A mun? A Funther?) And now, he’s wearing his long tube pants and showing a little ankle. The Victorians would be scandalized. He can reach the pizza cutter in the cutlery drawer. He is too tall to bomp his head on the table. He has grown at least 2 inches in 4 months.  I know I’m supposed to be accustomed to change, but this is a little nuts. At the rate we’re going, he’ll be shaving by the time he’s three. I’m not ready for that.

He is also spouting new words and phrases at an alarming rate. He can recite the days of the week. He is sassy. He is polite. He might be reincarnated. When we went out for lunch, Boychild found a dark hallway and ceremoniously stood on a chair announcing “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to our SHOW!” He kept repeating it and repeating it like a miniature carnival barker until it was time to leave. Or we were asked to leave. It was both cute and eerie. BC is also emotionally intuitive, even with cats. On the back of the cat litter box is a picture of a kitten and an older cat. Boychild pointed to the kitten and said, “He loves his mama so much.” He does this every time he sees the back of the box. It’s just so effing cute, my heart melts daily. He also tells me regularly while we’re driving, “Do your best, mom.” I didn’t mean to give birth to a motivational speaker, but I’m happy I did.

Last week, we took BC to the fair. At 2.5 years old, he is already riding rides by himself. He also insisted on riding the adult Ferris Wheel and elbowed his way to the front of the line to get on. He was incredibly upset when I kept steering him back to his place in line. “You’ve got to wait your turn,” I said. “I don’t want to wait turn,” says he, running off and stepping in a large swath of cow poop. I was concerned with riding the big Ferris wheel, what with us being very high up with a wiggly guy who has little tolerance for staying still. I was also not convinced that he met the height requirement. Heck, he’s technically too small for a bouncy castle, much less a SPINNING WHEEL OF DEATH. But the wheel operator was cool with his small stature. As the wheel dude brought down the bar and strapped us in, I felt the cold sweat of fear spike up all over my body, and I put my arm around my baby son with muscles so tense that I was sore the next day. The wheel began to turn, and as we left the ground, BC giggled, “this is fun!” Meanwhile, I’m holding on to him with all the stress and strength I can muster, lest he slip out the bottom of the gondola and land in the twisted metal teeth of the WHEEL OF DEATH.

He had a great time. I think it was about an hour after our ride that I could finally unclench my butt cheeks.

It’s been said of parenting that once you finally learn the rules, the rules change. They’re always changing. If I were a Buddhist, I’d probably deal with this change by curbing my desires. By wanting nothing. But I’m a mom, and I want to hold and snuggle and protect him forever. Keep the change. Really, though? I am so happy he’s growing and becoming and doing. I just hope I can keep up.