My Baby, My Boy

My Lewis is growing up, and it's exciting.  And I already miss my baby.  This thought is repeated so often, by so many mothers, that it becomes a comment that only skims the surface, not sinking in deeply.  But once you're actually experiencing it, it's cause for consternation.  

He's sleeping in a boy's bed, sharing a room with his brother.  He's been in there napping for a while, but the past two nights he wanted to be with "Linky"--and he's not only stayed through 'til morning, but he SLEPT THROUGH those two nights in a row.  This morning, he cried for me shortly before 5:00, but then went back to sleep until 7:00.  I don't remember the last time that happened; his normal wake up is around 5:40.  

He's potty training by choice.  He's making jokes with his brother that crack them both up.  He's wanting to do things on his own, like climb the stairs with no hand from mommy. His legs are looking long.  He's fierce in expressing his desires.  Though the product looks very different from his brother's, he does most of our school lesson projects right along with us.  He's so proud of himself whenever he does something new or well, like watercoloring: often the water-filled brush goes to the paper without any paint, and he's puzzled.  But then he gets the order properly, and a big, bold swash of turquoise lands on his paper, and he's just delighted.   

I'm so proud of him.