Tonight, when I tucked you in, swaddled in a nest of blankets and stuffed animal friends, I hugged you tight and asked you a very important question. "Will you stay my baby forever?" I asked. You paused for a moment, really considering, and said, "Yes." "Promise?" I asked. "For ever and ever?" "Yes!" you said again.
My eyes brimmed with tears, because, of course I knew you were lying.
Someday, you'll stop saying, "I just want to snuggle with you." You won't depend on sucking your thumb and caressing your belly button to fall asleep. We will go for a drive in the car, and you won't enthrall me with your newest ideas for this year's Halloween costume. "Mom! I know what I should be . . . "
Someday, you won't be scared to jump in a swimming pool, or if you are, you'll do it anyway, instead of clinging to me like a spider monkey.
Your thick, little, potato-like baby feet will turn into normal little boy feet. They'll slide into shoes that you can lace on your own. They won't need to stand on a stool in the kitchen to reach the counter. They'll pedal a bicycle. Maybe they'll score a soccer goal.
Someday, you'll put on a superhero costume, and it will just be a costume.
You won't beg for, "Milkies!" with the zeal of an addict. Your eyes won't glaze over as you guzzle whole milk from a sippy cup.
You'll wake up one day and my magical powers will dry up, when you decide that a kiss from me really doesn't make it all better.
Suddenly, you won't beg for one more story and one more song.
Oh, my sweet Everett, I'd like to say that I have savored every moment of your babyhood, but the truth is, that would be as much of a lie as the one you just told. You're growing up way too fast, little one. And, although I am in awe of the amazing little person you are becoming, it hurts my heart just a tad.
Even if you can't really keep your promise, maybe you can keep it for just a little bit longer.