Mr. Independent

Every day of every week, my boy is growing up and away.

The squidgy little bundle that was utterly reliant on me just four short months ago seems to have been straining against the constraints of babyhood ever since he was born, and I fear that his drooling days are numbered.

Last month he mastered the art of standing, last week he discovered the delights of squiggling about on his tummy and now, all of a sudden, he can sit all by himself.

I hover anxiously overhead as he rocks back and forth on his padded bottom and watch my little boy face the world alone.

Concentration covers his face, his chubby arms flail, dribble drips slowly onto his feet, his head droops towards his toes then suddenly he straightens his back and smiles. He's completely independent, and utterly content.

With each momentous milestone I smile in encouragement and clap with delight, but the lion inside claws at my heart and roars in anguish.

I want so very badly to keep my baby in my arms, but the tighter I cuddle him the more he strains against my grasp.

I have to remind myself that this is how it always was and how it is always going to be.