Going, going, gone?

Here today, gone tomorrow.

I feel like I'm constantly mourning the loss of my baby because he's growing up so fast.

Each time I retire a piece of clothing or a baby toy, I'm overtaken by a mournful twinge. I let out a little sigh. Remind myself that he can't stay a baby forever.

My milk is drying up. When he asks to nurse, I wonder "Is this the last time." Part of me looks forward to this day, but part of me is sad that this special mother-baby bond is coming to an end.

When he sleeps, he doesn't look like a baby anymore. When I hold him in my lap, his long legs dangle down. The towel we used to "burrito" him has been put away because it is too small to wrap him in.

His independence is taking hold. He wants to pull on his boots by himself, wants to brush his teeth without parental interference, wants to be entrusted to carry his glass from the kitchen to the dining room table.

Today, I pulled a pie out of the over and he said "Look, it's beautiful!" A baby wouldn't say that. Yesterday, when Grandma was getting set to leave for the airport, baby boy pretended he was going too. He said, "I have baggage. I'm going to take my luggage to the airport." When did he go from saying suitcase, to baggage and luggage?