Every time he says my name and I turn around, I jump a bit because his face is not where I'm expecting it to be;
The hems of his pants and his knees look as if they've been crooning, "Draw me closer to thee," to each other;
He finishes his meal and then looks around expectantly, like there's no way ten pancakes, a banana, and a big bowl of applesauce are the only things on the menu.
Yes. Elder son is the in the middle of a growth spurt. I continue to be astonished by this phenomenon, as if the past decade has taught me nothing about being the mother of tall children. Adelaide complains of growing pains in her legs and a month later she's an inch closer to my own height. I notice that Atticus is looking even skinnier and more stretched out than usual, then watch as, as was the case two nights ago, he ate a grilled cheese sandwich, the remaining cup, maybe cup and a half of raisins, half a block of cheese, a peach right down to the pit which he gnawed on so hungrily I worried he was going to chomp it to bits and swallow that, too, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, after which he sat back, patted his bulging stomach contentedly, and declared, "Ah, I can finally go to bed fat." "Fat" is a regular goal for our son, as to him it means his insatiable hunger has finally- if temporarily- been satisfied. Thirty minutes later he was shaking the remains of a bag of tortilla chips into his mouth. He is seven years old.
Caedmon, on the other hand, is very much our slow and steady grower. This is how I achieved my towering height of four full inches over the five foot mark, and it is something I understand. Caedmon's increasing height makes sense on growth charts. I can more or less predict when his clothes will no longer fit, and plan for it. There is no "What do you mean those jeans no longer fit? What did you do to all your clothes?" or "But you've barely worn those shoes! Can't you just, like, cram your toes in there or something?" Derek still worries that this more reasonably paced growing means Caedmon will be much shorter than his siblings, but I'm not worried- "He'll be plenty tall!" I reassure everyone. Never mind that "plenty tall" is anything above 5'8" to me.
What's nice is that so far, no matter how much or quickly Atticus grows, I can still depend on a few things from him. He still likes to sit rightnext to me whenever possible, and still wants plenty of physical contact.
He also, after realizing I'm taking a picture, rarely fails to beg, "Take my picture!" then strike a pose. I hope this lasts for, oh, I don't know, ever.
|I laughed while taking this picture. Still laughing.|
I think we'll keep him for, oh, I don't know, ever.