It's just a question of time.

It’s probably been said before, but bears repeating.  Time is a funny thing, and how we view it and relate it is even more intriguing.  A month from today, our little Gman turns 2.  Two.  Dos. Deux.  And what I keep thinking about is the fact that we are done referring to him in terms of months. As in, he’s 18 months.  Or 22 months.  Nobody refers to their kid as a 26 month old.  He’s simply 2.   

How quickly we make this transition.

When a woman becomes pregnant, time is referenced mostly in weeks.  16 weeks pregnant.  22 weeks.  39.  Then, when the babe arrives, it’s still weeks for awhile, until probably after the third month, or rather 12 weeks, and then we start with chronicling through months.  I’m sure this has much to do with the fact that we anticipate milestones at certain month ranges, and of course infant clothes are specific only to a monthly status.  But there’s something sort of sad and final about a child leaving those stages behind, especially en route to their 2^nd birthday.  It means, of course, they are no longer considered a baby, but now a full-fledged little person; a true toddler.  

Sadder even, is the departure of the onesie.  I LOVE the onesie.  I love the short sleeves, I love the long sleeves.  I love the plain, I love the decorated.  They have served us so well these nearly 24 months, that I am not even a little bit ashamed to admit how much I’m going to miss them.  A LOT.  The convenience.  The extra layer.  The ease.  The fact that for just a little while, I could keep him in something that was the same from when he was a tiny little baby to now, this robust individual.  But now it’s on to only the big-boy clothes.  My task in the coming weeks is to once again clear out his dresser drawers of the 18 and 24 month old clothes and make room for the 2t and beyond that await.  I can already imagine myself holding up the 3-6 month onesie and compare it to the 24 month one.  It went by in such a blink.  I get it now, when my parents used to wish us little forever. I can see myself wishing the same.  It’s not always easy, but who ever said parenting was?  

So, little G, 30 more days until your big day.  Four more weeks.  One more month. Until you’re 2.