Too Early. Too Soon. Too Fast.

When Bird was a toddler he would sleep smack in the center of his bed with his left cheek smushed into the pillow, his knees tucked under him, and his booty up in the air. He did this as an infant as soon as he could maneuver in the sleep sack. He has always been a good sleeper, having slept through the night at 12 weeks old and hasn’t stopped since. He is almost nine. I realize what a joy this is. When Bird was little, about two or three, he was the first to rise every morning. Deal was a baby and slept happily or cooed and sucked his thumb until we came to him. I have been blessed to have good sleepers and happy babies. Deal slept through the night at ten weeks old. I swear it was the magic of the Miracle Blanket. Anyway, back in the day Bird would rise before the rest of us had finished dreaming. I imagine he would lay in bed while his eyes adjusted to the light peeking through the lines of the blinds on his chambray blue walls. He might have stared at the stars on his ceiling for a bit or even picked up a book, as is his habit now. He slept with books the way most children sleep with stuffed animals.

After a while he would scamper into our room. I heard those padded pajamaed feet plop onto the floor in his I’m-trying-to-be-quiet-and-delicate manner that was actually nothing of the sort. I braced myself and squirreled my face farther into my pillow. The scampering feet pounced down the hardwood floors of the hall. There was a brief pause at our door, and I imagined Bird peeking around the corner to get his bearings and plan his approach. His little chubby face would peer at me from the edge of my bed. His face was even with mine so you get an idea of just what a tike he was. He would give me one poke and whisper ever so sweetly, “Mommy, done sleeping.”

I scooped him up into bed and snuggled and snoozled on him until he couldn’t contain his babbling any longer. The he wanted to make a tent under our sheets. Done sleeping is right, kid. On rare occasions he melted into my arms, and we all fell back asleep. On those mornings, especially the weekends, I would think to myself, “It’s toooooo early.”

Now Bird wakes up and turns on his bedside lamp. He lies on his stomach with his chin cupped into his hands and he reads reads reads. We hear not a peep. No more “Mommy, done sleeping.” I was oh so tired back then when he whispered those words. I wish had a recording because it was the greatest alarm clock I ever had. Now I’m the one who pads into Bird’s room to rub his back and give him kisses in the morning. His eyes don’t leave the page. He leans so I can scratch his back just so and he turns his head to swipe a fast kiss on my lips. Still, his eyes don’t leave the page. His nightstand is stacked high with books. I used to harp on him to tidy it up but now I relish the fact that this teetering tower of books is a sign of a voracious reader. That makes me proud and warms my soul.

But still, I miss the boy in the footie pajamas who fit so snugly in my arms.

Now I say to myself, “It’s tooooooooo early for him to be growing up so fast.”