Almost-four

This morning my son decided he wanted to be an elephant. He got dressed in blue and grey, and was delighted to think about how he lived in Africa, in the savannah. We hopped into the car, and drove to Africa daycare. He chortled to me about how he could do things with his trunk. "I can spray water over my back!! Isn't that crazy??!" And then "I can drink with my trunk!" Humans can't do that, we discuss. Humans can't drink with their noses.

And then, because he has a slight cold, he decided that elephants can do this "prob'ly because they don't have snot."

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His life involves a lot of icky things. Messy things. Paints. Snot. Lego from one end of the house to the other, which aren't icky but damn painful on bare feet, so almost the same.

And the other day was the first time I heard him fart, and then laugh about it. Truly, he is becoming a little boy.

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And yet, another day in the car, he tells me with mixed awe and amazement that "Mom, you are TWO PERSONS right now!" And I ask -- because of the baby? "Yes," he says. "You and Bumblebee are together, two persons in your body." And I can't imagine how he came up with that. That's an interesting abstract thought for almost-four.

I tell him that he and I were once like that, two persons in one body. He says he can't remember. I know he can't. He's only just beginning to acquire the memories he will carry into adulthood, now at almost-four. I wonder what he'll remember. I'm kind of sad that the things we've done, all the things we do together right now, won't make the cut. He won't remember being carried as a baby; he won't remember cuddling close to his mother; he won't remember sleeping in our bed; he won't remember the games of kisses and raspberries and toddling out in the backyard and eating raspberries off the bush and helping empty the dishwasher. He wont' remember the hours and hours we sat, reading books, him on my lap. He won't remember the things he said and did that gave me such joy.

I guess it will just have to be me that remembers for us both. And then look forward to memories that we can share, later on.