Tomorrow We Go For His Check-Up

From that to this



in approximately two seconds.
Oh, my boy. How you have grown in seven months.
I can hardly remember when you were that baby in your daddy's arms.

I am going with you tomorrow for your check-up. We will say, "He has seven teeth. He can crawl and pull himself up. He can say 'Ma-ma,' he can say, 'Hey!' He's never had so much as a snotty nose.''

We will say, "Isn't he the finest of fine, our little man?" And we will knock all the wood we can find.

And you, Owen, you will say, "Here I am. I weigh this, I am this long."
You will say, "Put my clothes back on! Let's go get lunch!"

You will say, "Give me something to eat. Hand me that bottle. Let me have a sweet potato."
You will say, "I am ready to fly. Get out of my way."

You will say, "I am the King of the World!"

And we will say, "Let me hold you. Slow down, our little love."
And we will sail through that doctor's office, holding the finest of the fine, the chunkiest of the chunky, the monkey-est of the monkey, the wiggliest of the worms, and we will be laughing, his mother and I. And he will be too, wrapped in our arms, our love, desperate to get down and MOVE.

That will be tomorrow.
I hope he sleeps well tonight.