Years, not months

San Francisco has finally warmed up and with cloudless skies the entire weekend, it appears our summer is finally starting. As a lovely Labor Day weekend draws to a close, I'm unable to shake a thought that struck me in conversation with new friends this weekend - friend-of-friends who themselves have 2 kids 20 months apart, with their older one just 5 days younger than Rohan. After a good chuckle and telling them "it does get easier after the first year" - when Mom ("A") asked how old Rohan was, I said "oh, 19 or 20 months" - and when she remarked that her older one (again, 5 days younger than Rohan) is already 21 mos old, I laughed and realized I hadn't really been counting lately.

He's just Rohan, my sweet, chubby-cheeked cuddly younger son, who still loves sitting on my hip and being carried around; who now cries "Up!" if he wants to be held; and who still wants me to rock him to sleep (which I do, because hey - I figure he'll be a sweaty/smelly teenager soon enough and won't want to look at me...so I'll enjoy the unconditional love & attention while I can get it).

The thought that I couldn't shake, was that soon enough, we'd be counting both Deven's and Rohan's ages in years, not months. I wasn't quite prepared for it. Sure, I ask parents of school-aged children here in San Francisco "Where do your kids go to school?" and other questions reserved for the 5+ set, but I hadn't thought that sometime soon, my little Rohan wouldn't want to be carried, and Deven wouldn't want to play on just a tricycle (rather, he'll have a bike).


I know it's coming, but for now, I'll savor the weekends like these, full of fun at parks (where the playground, rose garden, and doggie-sculpture provided ample fun), the Kings Mountain Art Fair where the boys made "spin art," and the beach (where the boys were thrilled by our kite and shallow warm tidepools). Here's to my boys, now 21 and 41 months old!