This picture, taken about eight years ago of my youngest, made me cry, and that made him think I had lost my mind.
J-man had a run-in with a pan and ended up with boo boo across his eye and the bridge of his nose. He was running full speed through a dark house, rounded a corner like a rocket on fire, and crashed into me -- or rather, into the pan I was holding.
It was traumatic and frightening, but he wasn't hurt badly, just shaken up. It was close to bedtime, and the tears kept coming. "Can I pleeease sleep with you, Mommy?" I realized how long it had been since he even wanted to snuggle, and since he was so pitiful, I told him we could sack out on the couch.
I was setting up my new computer and loading photos onto it, when this one popped up from what seems like so long ago in some ways, and yet just yesterday . . .
Those curls, those eyes, and that "baa-baa" constantly in his mouth. He was just learning how to crawl and was playing in the kitchen under the table while I was cooking supper. I remembered the rustling sound his diaper made when he moved, the smell of baby shampoo in his hair, and how he reached his little arms up every time he saw me, wanting to be picked up.
The term, they grow up so fast, is so true . . . sometimes it seems like the time is zooming by. Now he's reading, tying his own shoes, swimming and diving without a floatie suit, and getting ready to move into third grade.
But, he's still my baby.