This morning, I leave my son, strapped in his booster seat, seated at our long staff table in the dining hall filled with people, surrounded by caring staffers, with a biscuit in front of him, and I run into the kitchen to grab us some milk. It takes me a minute to pour his milk and mine, and as I walk across the filled room to our table, I suddenly see our speaker and our nurse RUN to my son's chair. And then my foggy mind begins to realize that I don't see my son's downy head in its usual place! His entire chair has tipped over backwards, and he is on the floor, in his seat, wind knocked out of him, in shock, not even crying yet. And I am running, in shock, not quite crying yet either, just wanting to get my boy and make sure he's okay. And the nurse & speaker are righting his chair and trying to free him from his safety buckles, and my mama bear instinct wants to push them out of the way and I just want to hold him before he recovers enough to be scared. And I hold him, and he cries, and we both take a minute to walk out on the deck, and cry, and recover from our morning spill. And we are both fine. No bumps, no concussion, nothing but yet another realization of how much I love this boy, and how I wouldn't know what to do without him.
Later in the morning, I am tidying my desk, and I realize that my son is quiet. I look over, and there is my little big boy, seated in a big-person-chair at the table in my office, quietly and calmly eating Froot Loops one at a time. I ask him what he is doing, and he replies, 'Nack.' Which, translated, means, "I'm having a snack, Mom." Not throwing handfuls of Froot Loops on the floor or flushing them down the toilet, not tipping the bowl over, or climbing recklessly onto the table. Just eating a snack. Sigh. Where did this big boy come from, and has anyone seen my baby? :)
After the craziness of a camp morning and lunchtime has been navigated, and the cleaning has been done, the relief of a quietly napping child settles in on my soul. I am seated at the computer, reading Twitter updates and drinking a Diet Root Beer. The Tiny one in my belly starts to kick furiously, and I remember that when Z was in my belly, he always 'liked' root beer, too. And this makes me happy.