I bought Henry some new pajamas last weekend, with space ships on them. I stood in front of the display forever, trying to decide between a size 6 and a size 8. Finally, I bought the sixes because the eights seemed like they would be way too big. How could Henry possibly need anything bigger than a size 6?

Charlie may be getting those pajamas soon.

Oklahoma City Zoo, summer 2002

I used to laugh at women who said, “Oh I can hardly remember when my kids were that size,” whatever size it is that your child is now. I would think, how can you NOT REMEMBER this size, this age, this incredible cuteness and snuggliness? But I also thought that all the baby cuteness and snuggliness would go on forever, forgetting, as my friend Nancy says, that our little boys will grow into “smelly, scratchy men” some day.

Some day soon, apparently.

I look at pictures of Henry from three or four years ago, and I’m startled by how little he looks. I have always thought of Charlie as the baby, and I think I forget what a little guy Henry was. I love the big boy he is turning into; I love his laugh and his millions of questions and his quirks. I love that he can name all the planets and can add and subtract in his head and that he writes an R by attaching two legs to a circle.

I love that he looks exactly like the teeny baby they handed me in the delivery room at the same time that he looks like a mini Wade.

I love that my baby is growing up, moving closer to the smelly and scratchy part of his life. But I also love that he has started hugging me again, after not wanting to for what seemed like forever. Because I want the snuggly part to last forever.

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