Who knew the moon was so close?

This afternoon, we were outside playing in the yard, and to his surprise, Noah saw the moon in the sky during broad daylight. "Mommy! The moon!" he cried. "Yes, honey - it's the moon, out during the day!" And then he cleared up everything for me:

The moon is up there! On the second floor! Where there aren't any chairs!

I wonder where it will sit?

Suddenly, the ground rose up to meet me....

Noah has spent what is to me an uncanny amount of time plummeting to the ground recently. First it was 2 weeks ago, when with his arms behind his back, he got his feet tied up in one another and caught himself with his nose and a big part of his forehead. The scabs are off now, but the little pink fresh skin is still glowing under his nose, and I hope and pray that it's not a permanent mark. I guess it could be like some kind of dueling scar -- from dueling with the sidewalk.

But he's taken his plummeting antics into the bedroom recently. We moved him from his crib to a bed last summer when he began doing some crazy gymnastics along the top of the crib rail. His new bed used to be his uncles, and is a nice platform trundlebed that provides great storage where the trundle bed would be, and a not-very-long drop to the ground... but it is still enough. We put up rails, but got brave a few weeks ago and pulled them off, which made the bed a great place for reading books and playing with toys and cuddling with his Mama while he got ready to go to sleep.

Two nights in the last week, though, I awoke halfway down the hall in mid-stride to the sound of Noah shrieking in terror from the floor next to his bed. No injury -- just the fear of a little boy who didn't mind the falling, just that sudden stop at the end. At 4:00 in the morning, I reinstalled the side rails on his bed. I guess he's not completely grown up after all.

You are my best friend.....

We are all about Little Einsteins at our house. I mean, why wouldn't you be? Between the musical references, the art, and the problem-solving, I really can't argue with the kid for his choice of TV viewing. We have a dozen or more episodes in permanent rotation on our cable box/DVR setup, and in the morning while Mommy showers, the little guy often sits in the rec room watching little einsteins and eating a bagel.

One of the cutest episodes to get captured on the DVR recently is "Annie's Love Song," the story of two hermit crabs on the beach who are best friends and are separated when the red hermit crab is swept out to sea, and gets caught in a lobster trap. They find the red hermit crab by singing the Best Friend song, which has the words "You are my best friend - I love you!" It's catchy, and for the rest of the day, I'll find myself humming it. So the other morning we went upstairs to get out of pajamas and into clothes, and I was humming it, and Noah was humming it -- and so I started singing it, and out of nowhere, Noah grabbed his plastic microphone and began singing along, and suddenly there we were, singing this catchy duet to one another, just like Sonny and Cher singing "I've Got You, Babe" or something.

This morning, no singing, but we were all about eating "Floop-Loops."

It has begun....

This morning, as we were getting into the car, I heard for the first time those fateful words:

I do it MYSELF, Mommy!

He wanted to climb into his seat from the driveway on his own. Now, granted, he got stuck halfway and had to shout for help. But I believe this may officially be the beginning of the end....

A potty update...

So far, no matter what, if you ask him if he's pooping, he says "Nope!" Any interest in sitting on the potty? "Nope!" As his father where he learned THAT lovely turn of phrase....

But last night, I caught him in MID-POOP. There was NO DENYING what was going on. And so I shouted to him: "Hey! You going poopy?" In a gutteral grunt, I got an unexpected reply:

"YEP!"

I figure it's progress.

Thinking about 3 years ago....

Something about this time of year gets me to thinking about three years ago, when I was wondering if I could manage through the couple of months of spring without buying any more maternity clothes, and getting ready for my life to change. Yesterday, I took a few minutes to hunt up the postings I made to my favorite bulletin board in the day or so leading up to my son's birth, and then the arrival post telling the story of his delivery and some of the subsequent antics.

I feel a great urge to write the whole story up for him, and will probably post it here as well. I think it's a great story -- but of course, I *would.*

The answer, though, is that NO, March through May in DC requires a shocking range of clothing, from heavy knit stuff and coats to shorts and little short dresses. I still have a couple of the dresses, thinking that someday I may figure out how to de-maternity-ificate them. But with a budding 3-year-old, who has the time?

All alarming things also come to an end....

The thought of finding myself pregnant again at 43 fills me with dread. And yet, at some level, the thought of consciously permanently preventing it also makes me feel, well, OLD. Like I've suddenly taken the hyperspace route to cronedom.

And so, when we discussed it this past week, my hubby and I decided it was time to put an end to the madness. Neither one of us wants to go through the sleepless nights of a newborn again at our age. As much as I wish that my life had been one that permitted me to have a whole houseful of children, I just need to thank God for the one He allowed me, and accept that this phase of my life is at an end.

I expect there to be some anguish and mourning as the next events unfold, and then some relief at not having to worry so much each month about Oh Dear God, am I?

I imagine I'll need to talk about it some. I feel in good company, since my hero Antique Mommy has also just gone through this milestone.