Today Small Boy became a 1-year-old. I’ve spent a large part of the day almost in shock, because I’ve lost a year of my life. Not lost in the sense that it was somehow taken from me, but lost in the sense that I can’t find it.
I know it happened. I have a couple thousand tweets to prove that I did, in fact, exist for the majority of the past year; I just don’t remember it, particularly when it comes to the fact that it seems weird to call Small Boy a baby. He’s not a baby anymore, is he? I mean, he walks around the corner and strolls into the room to see what I’m doing like it’s no big thing. He’s a third person that’s living here. Gone are the days of having a small crying lump to tend to… we’ve got a full-on little dude.
I mean, really… how did that happen?