He’s Three Now

I bought him new pajamas.

I couldn’t wait any longer.

He turned three last week.

So I bought him new pajamas.

He loves his old pajamas. The ones with the feet, that zip from his toes to his chin.

Those one-piece pajamas have served their purpose.

He still hasn’t learned, really, how to sleep on the north-south axis of the bed.

Or to stay underneath the covers.

In the winter, his room is the coldest in our home.

When he wears those pjs, I take comfort in knowing he is warm, regardless of his position in the bed.

But he needed new pajamas.

Two-piece ones.

He probably needed them a while ago.

He’s been reliably potty-trained for months. He should wear something he can take off and put on himself.

And it’s 105 degrees. His tummy and feet aren’t cold.

If anything, he’s hot.

I haven’t polled my friends, but I suspect he was one of the few children still wearing one-piece pajamas.

This child, my child, has grown too quickly at every turn.

Racing through his babyhood, into toddlerhood, and onto boyhood, before I could ever catch my breath.

Always moving to the next milestone.

Never resting, never stopping, his life is flying past.

I just want to hold on.

For one moment, one instant, I want to freeze time and relish it.

Freeze him.

Sear the weight and the shape of his body, his little-boy scent, the sound of his voice and lilt of his laughter into my memory forever.

I want it all to slow down.

In his baby pajamas, I could still imagine him as the infant who fell asleep when I rocked him.

The one who hesitantly took his first steps.

And the toddler who cheerfully climbed out of his crib.

My baby.

My heart.

He’s a boy now.

Regardless of what he sleeps in.

On his birthday, I greeted him in the morning and asked for a special birthday hug.

And, as he played with Hot Wheels, he told me, “I’m busy, Mom.”

I’m busy, Mom.

I finally bought him new pajamas.

He’s three now.