The other night Leo was getting undressed and ready for bed. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and methodically placed one foot into each flannel pajama pant leg. I was sitting on the toilet (lid closed, ahem), sporting one of my favorite “night gowns,” a super soft and well-worn Buddy Walk t-shirt from back in the day—2004—the year Leo was born.
Leo looked at me and then at my shirt and said, clear as a bell:
“Buddy Walk.”
We didn’t go to the Buddy Walk this year. For whatever reason, it just didn’t happen. I did not teach him that word. Leo can read. I guess I need to accept this already but I still find it shocking.
Oh how I wish someone had told me that little moment in the bathroom would happen, back in 2004 when I held a little two month old Leo and cried through most of my first Buddy Walk, held in New York’s Central Park. I never thought I would see the day that my boy would read (or walk or talk or build hayrides or torment his future baby sister). I never thought I would see the day that I didn’t believe with all my heart, that life was over.
Sometimes (well, all of the time, really), you just have to live through the struggles to find out that it’s possible to come out the other side.
Leo's first birthday, Portland, Oregon, 2005
1 comment:
I looked for you but I figured you guys weren't there! I was at the Reece's Rainbow table. It was fun! Next year maybe?
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