Baby Fingers and Bad Words

There's very little about my baby that's still babyish.  He has shot up this year and seems to be all arms and legs.  Even his facial features have matured from the rounded features of a small boy into the lean cheeks of a much bigger boy. 

These changes make me cherish the moments I glimpse the baby he was. They mostly happen when he's asleep.  He pulls his long limbs close, hands gracefully posed, long lashes across his cheek.  He's a deep sleeper and I've spent more than one Saturday morning just watching him (lest you accuse me of favoritism, I'd do the same with his brother if said child didn't rise criminally early).

I particularly love Matt's hands. Those dimpled knuckles still have the look of a baby to me.

Maybe I'm deluding myself.

Earlier this week, Matt and I were sitting on the couch having a sweet mother/son chat, when he turned and with his sweet little hand flipped me the bird.  He was very serious.  There was no sign of  his usual twinkle of mischief.

"Is this a very bad word?" he asked.

It may have been the hardest thing I've ever done as a parent, but I let my facial expression mirror his.  Still staring at the middle finger facing me, I answered calmly, "yes, it's one of the worst words and I hope I never see you do that again."

He nodded, moved into my lap and went back to telling me about his day. I pulled him close, put my nose in his hair and took in the smell that was decidedly boy.