Just like that, my baby is no longer a baby.
Just like that, a toddler before my eyes.
Just like that, a year — then another — gone.
I used to worry he’d never eat like he should.
Then just like that — no more baby food.
Now he feeds himself: french toast, cereal, hot dogs.
He wanders over to see what we’re eating, always angling for a bite.
I used to wonder if he’d ever move like he should.
He’d just bounce on his butt and laugh.
Then just like that, he crawled — slow and uncertain at first.
A shuffle, then a pause. A reach, then rest.
And then just like that, we can’t keep him still —
flying across the room, rattling the baby gate like a boy on a mission.
This baby — this boy — is doing exactly what he should,
exactly when he should.
No timeline required.
Just like that.
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