View Image Today was another milestone… the kind that catches you off guard and takes a minute to sink in but the ton of bricks come crashing out of the sky none the less.

Lil Blue doesn’t need a step-stool anymore.  I watched today as he stretched up on his tippy toes and washed his hands at the bathroom sink.  This event followed very closely on the heels of him being able to get up on and down off the toilet without his trusty little red side kick.

At first I was excited.  No more step stool carrying through the house from one bathroom to the next.  Hooray!  No more stubbed Mama-toes during midnight bathroom trips in the dark. Hooray!  No more precious floor space used up by our stout four-legged companion.  Hooray! 

But then I heard the faint roaring sound from above… like the distant roar of an approaching earthquake.   It’s the dreaded sound of time marching on.  It’s always there, in the background.  We just usually drown out the sound with our business.  Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving… only, we can never move faster than Time.  Sometimes the roar of Time is disguised by the cheering and clapping around you as monumental event is applauded and rewarded.  It’s even been known to go crashing by in our absence. Ever miss a child’s first step because of work?  Or a first book ever read because of vacation?  ‘Nough said.

View ImageToday I wanted to desperately to jam the lifetime supply of cotton balls from the nearby bathroom cupboard (does anyone else have the same bag of cotton balls that they bought 5  years ago?!) into my ears to drown out the rumbling of Time.  If I don’t hear it, does it mean it’s moving?  No more step-stool means no more chubby little feet stepping up for a little boost of height.  No more half-naked (or all naked as the case may be) 2 year old noisily dragging the stool through the house just so he can “use your baffroom Mom”.  

No more help from mom.

Now, that’s not totally true of course.  But it’s how Time makes me feel today.  I’m being phased out.  It’s a good thing. 

But it’s a sad thing.

So while I add the step-stool to the garage sale mountain pile, I’ll relish one of my few last bathroom mom-duties…

…. reaching the soap for him.