When he was born, he had chubby cheeks and the cutest dimple on his chin. He liked to be held, bounced, shushed to sleep. He liked it when I rubbed his forehead. He would wrap his hand around my pinky finger while he drank his bottle. He gave us sleepy grins just before he closed his eyes. He was small and precious and fragile.
When he was 2 he had chubby little legs that helped him run away from me in a weaving pattern. He laughed with a huge open mouth. His smile was contagious. He sang songs and talked in third person. His little fingers fit perfectly in my hand. He called me, "Mama" and my heart burst open every time. He was small and precious and fragile.
This year he is 4 and this is his pre-school picture. I still see his dimple on his chin. His legs have thinned out, but he still laughs with a huge open mouth. He still likes it when I rub his forehead, He still calls me, "Mama." My heart still bursts open every time. Though he may not look it, he is still small and precious and fragile. Now, he is also big and smart and independent.