I joke that my oldest son’s first year of life felt like 33 years, but with Diego, the time has gone by lightning-fast. In a blink, my cooing infant has turned into a goofy, stubborn, handsome and bold toddler with a confidence in his abilities that seems otherworldly. Today he climbed the stairs to our master bedroom, a feat that a few weeks ago he couldn’t even begin, never mind finish. He’s growing remarkably quick, beginning to speak and definitely understanding several words. He’s a total ham too. I hope I can capture his intense overacting when he says the word “hot,” a performance he puts on due to my own scenery-chewing ways when I show him the dangers of touching the stove or hot running water. I love that he is growing - that both of my kids are so healthy and happy - but there’s a pain in parenthood: the knowledge that they won’t stop and that someday they too will be adults. For now though, he’s still my peanut, my chiquitín, and I will relish these moments as much as possible, hoping that by doing so I will not miss them ever more as they pass.
