Last night as Dom and I carried on a discussion in the den, we heard Aaron rummaging around in the kitchen. “He’s getting a bowl,” Dom explained to me.

I craned to look into the kitchen, worried that Aaron would need help reaching the bowls. You never know when SuperMom is going to have to reach the unreachable for her little babies.  I wondered out loud if he would need our assistance.

As I looked into the kitchen, aiming my gaze right above the countertop, Aaron emerged into view, his chest towering over the countertop where I expected to see his face. And then it hit me. He’s getting taller. He will be in Middle School in a few short months. My baby boy is growing up. I vividly recall when the top of his head just baaaaaarely reached the countertop, and we cheered and danced because he was getting “soooooooo big!”

I wasn’t cheering last night, though. As soon as the memory of my baby boy in his overalls, turtleneck onesie and Timberland boots tiptoed through my head, the tears spilled out of my eyes. My conversation came to a screeching halt, and Dom looked at me with mild curiosity.

“Are…are you crying?”

[sniffling] “Mmmmm-hmmmmm…”

“Over him getting taller?”

“Yes! I can remember when…” and I just stopped right there, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yeah…I know,” came the understanding reply from my better half.

We sat for just a moment in silence, then we both sucked it up and continued the previous conversation, forcing us to put aside our marvel and wonder and temporary melancholy in favor of something that does not remind us of how quickly time passes.  This life – this Grow-A-Kid carnival ride – is going too fast. Slow it down, please. SuperMom is a SuperWimp.

Somebody get the woman some Kleenex.

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