There’s a lot of stuff going around this winter, right?  My kids keep coming down with this thing.  It’s actually a chronic condition they keep getting, and there’s nothing I can do to prevent it or cure it or even delay it a bit, and they seem to always get this particularly aggressive case of it.  Leo got it just last week, and all I could do was sit there and watch it happen.

That terrible thing he got is called his BIRTHDAY. And I know everyone thinks birthdays are great and all, Leo probably more so than anyone in the history of mankind, but birthdays are not great if you are a mother trying to hold onto the last wisps of babyhood you see seeping away from your baby. Who is now FOUR.

Can we just call him 48 months and be cool with it?

You’re telling me no.  Okay, fine.  But you should know that four is my least favorite number right now, and it will be for a year until my new least favorite number (I can’t even write it, it’s so scary) comes and does its thing to my baby Leo.

I don’t like that I don’t have a three-year-old anymore. I don’t like that when he sits on my lap, whole body parts of him are spilling over onto the couch—not just a foot or a forearm but an entire torso or a pair of legs. I don’t like that his hair isn’t super fine and blond anymore, or that he doesn’t make a sweet “slip slip slip” sound when he runs down the hallway because he doesn’t wear a diaper.  I don’t like that he can put on his clothes by himself and doesn’t need me to set him on my lap and give him a long putting-on-clothes, whole-body hug. I don’t like that tries to be silly now instead of just being silly on accident.

But if these things weren’t so, I guess that would be worse.  It’s not fun to change a four-year-old’s diaper, so it’s probably good he doesn’t wear one.  It’s also good that Leo can put his clothes on by himself and that he is growing at a healthy rate and that he takes joy in trying to make others laugh. 

Still, Leo’s fourth birthday is a little too big for me to swallow.  It’s just kind of stuck in my throat, you know?  It won’t go down, and if it comes up it is going to come up as a big sob.  I’m losing my baby.

Wait, I hear someone calling from the bathroom.  It’s Leo!  He’s yelling, “WIPE MY BUM!  WIPE MY BUM, MOM!”

So…I guess I still have that.

But still;


I miss my baby.

Soba noodle salad with tofu
Stir-fried vegetables
Sliced pear

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