Boys do not grow up gradually. They move forward in spurts like the hands of clocks in railway stations. ~Cyril Connolly

2009-Summer

Our little Max moved out of his crib and into a big bed last night.  His bed is a gem – it was passed down from Dan’s dad to Dan and now to Max.   He is so pleased about his bed and was chipper about the crib going to the basement (I am not).  Thankfully, he still looks like a baby when he’s asleep in there (he is not).   We have to figure out how to get him to understand what it means when we say he has to stay in his bed until 7 am.

I am confident that this is not the last time I will be so happy for him to be so proud and pleased and at ease with the change, at the same time that there is a little emptiness for what is no longer.  Is there a word for the feeling a parent has for a child moving on?  The bulk of it is joy; there is also the slightest bit of actual pain along with the fresh bedding, the beautiful bed passed down three times and the boy who couldn’t be prouder of his new digs.  Sweet dreams my little Max.

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