TLB returned to day care today after being out for six weeks or so. He cried when I dropped him off and the staff of the day care hastened to shoo me away like one of those coddling helicopter moms, which I most assuredly am not. I get that he'll be fine once I'm gone, day care, but could I please have a goodbye kiss before I go? NO, GIMME YOUR KID, BYE NOW.
Anyway, things went fine, of course. I was informed as soon as I walked in the door that Alex had been very excited to see his old infant room teacher, Ms. Novie, who now works in the 1-year-old room in the afternoon.
My son is in the 1-year-old room. He plays with other toddlers, learns letters and colors, eats at the table, and sleeps on a nap mat on the floor. MY BABY.
All at once I'm both like, "No! He's still a baby!" and "Hellz yeah! Potty training next, please, and how about eating with utensils and some organized sports."
He's growing up, and really, I'm totally cool with that because the older he gets, the more fun he gets. He runs and climbs and talks and explores and absorbs things like a jumbo sponge. He's just so much awesome.
It's just that it reminds me that he's over a year old, which means I'm more than a year older than I was when he was born, which means I am quite solidly on my way to that point when I'll be 55 and he'll be graduating high school and people will think I'm his grandmother.
But for now I just have to worry about buying a blanket for his nap mat.
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