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I was at the Farmers Market in Modesto the other day, and I ran into the wife of a colleague. I had to go back to the office and tell him that the poor, delusional woman was running around town with two people posing as their children. Because there was no way the tall middle-schooler was their little girl, and the gangly, chatty kid next to her couldn't possibly be their baby boy. I turned into one of those people kids hate: "Look how big you are!" Except Ididn't pinch their cheeks - at least I get points for this.

I thought about this last night as I sat at the dining room table while Nicholas ate his dinner. Gosh, I'm glad my baby is still little. But then I realized it's already started - where's the newborn who needs me just to get anywhere? Who is this kid, sitting here feeding himself dinner - with mixed success - with a toddler fork? We were so happy when he started walking; now we find ourselves chasing him through stores. Every milestone means he needs me a little bit less. And while I'm happy with that - I don't want to be spoon-feeding mashed peas to a college student - it's also a reminder to treasure every second I get to be with him and everythign I get to do for him. Okay, except maybe laundry.