I may have caught his last jump on camera.
For years, he’s loved this jump house and all others he’s encountered. He jumped, happily, every time we got this one out of the garage or found one at a fair or arcade.
But today, he jumped for about two minutes with his sister before he came out and told me, quite matter of factly, that he just doesn’t like it anymore and that he’s too big.
His little sister, now two, called for him to come in and jump with her, but he told her that he’s just too old to jump. No one told him that; he just decided on his own.
It’s a small thing, really, and one of many things that signify that my son, once a boy I could easily carry, is growing older. He’s too heavy for me to lift now; he’s getting his adult teeth; his hair is getting darker; his hands are taking the shape of a boy, no longer a baby. Continue Reading