Where has the buddha-belly gone?

Two weeks ago, my son had a huge, fabulous, middle-aged-man-style buddha-belly that draped down over the front of his pants, so that you had to push it out of the way to snap his jeans closed. His 14-year-old brother had a nasty tendency to call him "fatty." He still had the little line of toddler fat-roll on his thigh.

And then, Sunday night before last, he got into the bathtub, and it was gone.

"Noah! Who has stolen your belly?" I demanded to know.

Little brown eyes looked back up at me in confusion.

"Your belly! Where's your belly?"

He pulled his tummy in -- this did not help things -- and pointed out his belly button for me. "Beebo?"

"Yes, it's your beebo, but where's your big buddha belly?"

Brown eyes, blinking.

Someone has stolen my son's buddha-belly. It's true. But in the last two weeks, his sleek two-and-almost-a-half-year-old self has gone shopping with me with no stroller, and has walked (WALKED!) all the way to the playground, and singlehandedly climbed the Very! Big! Hill!

I watched him run toward Very! Big! Hill! in his little jeans and enormous shoes and Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, and felt myself looking back at this moment from the sidelines of a soccer game sometime in the future, and watched the sheer gorgeousness of his little body running and little bell-clear voice laughing.

"Come ON, Mommy! Climb Very Big Hill!" Who could say no?