His long, newly turned five-year old body is just shy of 48 inches. He is my baby and he is all grown up at the same time. One minute he’s riding his dirt bike like he’s been doing it for years and the next, he is asking me for his bee because he’s cold. He knows the meaning of the word inappropriate, but only says propriate. As smart as he is, he still has trouble saying the “L” sound. As I walked into my bedroom, I had a hunch that he’d fallen asleep watching the little yellow sponge and his pink friend. His head was tilted so far back that I got uncomfortable just looking at him. I tried to be as gentle as possible when I picked him up. Being the pro that I am at this sort of thing, he didn’t even wake up. The trek up the 14 stairs to his room not only builds my calf muscles but also allows me ample time to kiss his face while I do my best to make sure that I keep his head and legs from hitting the stair rail and wall. His cheeks are as soft now as they were they day he was born. The love I feel for this child brings fresh tears to my eyes as I write. Where did the time go?