Ben was running from play area to play area at the expansive Jefferson School playground last night. "Mama?! Mama!? Whee!" His excitement was too much for his body, and his heart ran faster than his feet.I didn't see his injury at first as I held him on my lap, letting him weep into my shoulder. I examined his feet, his knees, the palms of his hands... nothing. He craned his head away from my kisses, and I saw the red blotch on his chin where the sidewalk had ferociously scraped the skin away. He had landed on his chin.
Poor thing. I asked him if he'd like to go home, and he jumped off my lap and ran to the slides. Ha. He wasn't going to let something like a bloody chin ruin his special time at the fancy playground!
As this year speeds by with baby giggles and choo-choos, I'm left breathless when I realize that my baby is 2.5 now. Has been for a couple weeks. He has his "moments" when he is the quintessential toddler, but others when he is totally "Ben," all roars and skips, incessant mamas and cries for juice. And the hugs. Oh, the hugs. And the big "mwah" kisses that I taught him. We'll never get this moment back; this life is fleeting. This babyhood, this kingdom of toddlers, will fade, and I'll be left with many grey hairs and even more warm memories.
I still think it's a miracle how he can bring me his hurts for a kiss, and the pain magically disappears. I am the miracle worker. I am his mother.
