Yesterday I looked up and suddenly Josiah looked...tall. He and I had been playing a game with his alphabet flashcards, and when he stood up it was as if I was looking at him for the first time in a year, like a distant relative who lives far away and wants to pinch his formerly-chubby cheeks and give him the look-how-much-you've-grown and the-last-time-I-saw-you-you-were-this-big speeches.
But seriously. I think I may have gasped. And I almost started crying (which is a big shock to all of us, I'm sure).
This is my child who, six months ago, was weighed and measured and charted in the 10th percentile for his age. I have counted on him being small forever, but my picky eater is now beginning to ask for seconds (sometimes) and taking solid two- or three-hour naps (most days), which logically equals a growth spurt. For the last six months we have had to roll his 4T pants so they fit, but suddenly we don't have to anymore. And every night he says, "Daddy, let's wrestle. I ate protein today!"
He's growing!
To that realization I say both hooray! and boo!
Or perhaps he's been growing all along and it was just my perspective that changed yesterday because I knew I was about to register him for Kindergarten.
Which I did this morning.
Be still my heart.
