He Grows, You Know

I got my son dressed this morning; size two t-shirt, size 24 months shortalls, size 2-3 years socks and size 7 spiderman (pardon me, "sider-wan") shoes for his big feet. We topped it off with one toddler sized Canucks ball cap to cover his chaotic curls.

I kissed his still-chubby baby cheeks and said "Look at you, what a big boy!" to which he promptly clapped his hands and replied. "I big boy! I poo in the toi-let!" (well, yes, that would be right, if you actually were toilet trained.)

I smiled back at the toothy-grinned toddler, who was so proud of his imaginary milestone. He scampered off singing about bodily functions to the tune of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star".

He's getting bigger, and I hate it. We're booking our flights to Disneyland next month (oh miracle of miracles, my husband actually agreed to join us!) and Little Man likes to tell everyone "I go Dinney-land". They all share in his joy, but no one can believe he's under two.

"Oh, too bad you didn't go last year, he could have sat on your lap." (Um, he's not 2 til the winter.)

"Oh, three is the perfect age for Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck! (Um, he's still one, thank you very much!)

"Oh, what fun! I went Disneyland as a pre-schooler, too. " (Um, he is NOT a pre-schooler! No, no, no!)

For the last time, he's a toddler, and just barely! He's not even two! He still drinks from a bottle. He still needs his snuggles. He still wears footed pajamas. He's not toilet trained. He only has twelve teeth. Sometimes Sesame Street is "too scary" and -- thank GOD -- he still has an afternoon nap.

He is not about to go off to school.

He does not get his own seat on the airplane.

He just barely reached the height requiring his car seat to be forward-facing.

He's still being followed by the infant development program at our local child centre.

At day care, he occupies an "infant" spot. We shop in the infant section of baby Gap (and I try my darnedest not to wander over to the Toddler Size, even though there are plenty of clothes that fit him in both sections...)

"He grows, you know." My husband reminded me the other day. I was trying to stuff our baby's bum into a too-small pair of swimming diapers. The size said "up to 30 pounds" and his little cheeks were escaping from the sides of the diaper. "It can't leak if there's no room for air or water to sneak in!" I argued.

"But he can't breathe if the diaper is a tourniquet." Fine. One point for daddy. Our son gets the next size in swim diapers.

But he's still a todder, darnit! I'm not ready for him to grow up so quickly. I'll keep enjoying the snuggling, bottle-drinking, airplane-seat sharing Little Man for as long as I can.