There�s not much news today as I�m up to my eyeballs in taxes. With two self-employed persons and a number of other complicated things, I should really be paying an accountant, but for some reason I insist on doing it all myself every year. I�m a control freak. My brother-in-law the IRS agent is coming over tonight to look over it all and make sure we�re not asking for an audit. Blech. I hate this stuff.

AJ�s �big boy bed� arrived yesterday and he is beside himself with excitement. The pieces are all sitting in my husband�s office until we have time to put the thing together. AJ keeps wandering in to look at it. I think he already has big plans for bouncing on the mattress. The gleam in his eye as he stares at the mattress propped up against the closet door suggests that he�s sizing everything up and plotting future mayhem.

I, on the other hand, see the bed and feel all weepy about packing up the crib. He�s getting so big. He could very well be in this bed until he goes to college (getting out every now and then to go to school and empty the refrigerator, of course). When I stare at the mattress I wonder how tall he will be, how much of that mattress his body will cover someday. Right now you could easily sleep at least four AJs in there. Right now I can carry him around in one arm with the help of a hip. I can still throw him in the air until he laughs. I can bench press him while he counts my reps and giggles. Someday I won�t be able to do that anymore. Someday he might be able to bench press me (although I�m pretty sure neither of us will be laughing if he tries it).

This morning I took him to get a haircut. He climbed up into the chair on top of the booster and the barber raised the chair as high as it would go, then draped him in a black cape. He looked terribly serious, quietly following instructions on head tilt and eye-closing, gamely tolerating cold scissors against his neck and the buzz of the clippers, contemplating his image in the mirror. It was the first time he�d ever gone through this operation without clutching his blankie. Without clutching my hand. Finally, as the cut was almost finished, his serious face got a little more serious. The lower lip stuck out more than usual. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, then twisted his mouth into an absurdly huge grin. I joined in and we sat there making faces at each other in the mirror until it was time to go. He�s still my little boy.

0 people said it like they meant it