This morning, when I was face down on my pillows with my body twisted five hundred different ways so that Henry could wage a war against my belly wedge, Andrew kissed my furrowed I-don't-want-to-wake-up forehead and walked out of our bedroom, bag in hand to head out the door. As he stashed whatever it was he needed to stash in his bag, he heard a door creak open, a little voice say "Hi, Daddy!" and that same voice say, "Bye, Daddy!" as our little Maximillian shut his door so he could continue playing all by himself in his room.
It's funny. A week ago he would have pounded on his door or ran into our room as soon as he woke up, but nowadays, I have no idea what time he wakes up because if I wake up at six, he's playing with his toys and if I don't venture out of our room until 9:45 (like yesterday when we slept through all of our alarms), he's still sitting there in his little footie pajamas, making his stuffed animals fly as he tries to jump on his bed.
I think, for Maxwell, childhood has begun.
So long, baby-and-early-toddler-hood. You were nice while you lasted.