Simon finally lost one of his front teeth this morning, after having it loose since last Friday. Unfortunately, he swallowed it at breakfast. The other immediately went loose, and he swallowed that at dinner. That makes him 1 for 4 in the last year of losing teeth and not swallowing them. Hopefully this doesn't cause a ton of gastric distress.
Now I have a 6-year-old flirting with 48 inches of height and no top front teeth. It's yet another indication that my little boy isn't really little anymore. He's one-third the way to legal adulthood. This wears on me lately. It's not that I feel like I haven't spent enough time with him, it's that I have and time still seems to be racing by. I want it to slow down in the worst way. It's particularly troubling when he's not having a good day, and I'm not patient with him. It feels less constructive.
I was talking with a friend today that I don't get to see very often, and he now has three kids. The first was born around the same time as Simon, so he has +2'd since then. He had great stories about the evolving approach to parenthood with more kids, and here I was thinking about how I can barely handle having one some days.
There are days where I just wish that Diana and I could get away by ourselves for a few days, but then there are times where Simon has crashed on the couch next to me, sleepy, and I want that time to last forever. An acquaintance of mine, a CEO for a billion-dollar company, is fond of ending his professional advice by reminding you that much of what stresses you out is "just rounding errors" compared to your spouse and children. He's so right.