riding the escalator that is toddlerhood

Oh, Eli. Life with you as a full fledged two year old is filled with head-spinning activity almost constantly. (Save those long naps you take where you recover from all your busyness). I take you weekly to a short work meeting at our local, wonderful science museum. They have things you looove to play with, but we get there just before the museum opens and sit in the cafe and meet with my student. Sometimes you sit with us and draw or put stickers on things. Sometimes (ok, usually) you are entertained by your favorite monkey, curious george (who your father and I suspect is teaching you some of your more clever tricks). And always there are snacks a plenty. This last week I ran into one of my old students parents as we were walking into the museum to go play. We did the brief, stand-by-the-stroller-while-trying-to-contain-toddler-who-needs-to-go-run-after-sitting-for-as-long-as-he-can conversation. It was a brief chat but they were informed of the forthcoming addition (as if my bump wasn't evidence enough) so we had to do some additional chatting. Meanwhile, you were off. I didn't quite realize this. And in my defense, I have that ability to know when circumstances are of extreme danger (are there cars nearby?) and when if you were to go roaming it wouldn't in all likelihood result in any harm. Other than my pride, of course. Because as I emerged from this short, conversation and did the head turns in all directions looking for you, I landed on the lady at the entrance who checks to see that you have paid and noticed her head turned completely around... and I followed her gaze... and I found you, halfway up the escalator, standing perfectly still with your right hand resting on the moving rail. Like you take the escalator all the time and know exactly what to do. Thankfully, a kind, older, museum volunteer had jumped on the escalator behind you and rode a couple steps back, just to make sure you made it safely. Meanwhile, I ditched the stroller, ran up the adjoining stairs (did I mentioned how front-heavy I am right now?) just in time for you to be deposited at the top. Thanked the nice volunteer who was just chuckling, carried you down the stairs, back to the proper entrance where we got our hands stamped and could legally enter the museum. How quickly you go from needing me for everything... to running right by me and jumping on the nearest escalator. We marvel at how much you want to go.... to run... to explore all life has to give you.... and then when you finally stop long enough to see where you're at, and realize we aren't there, you just let out a loud, sobbing cry. This doesn't happen often, but at least we know we aren't likely to actually lose you because we can always just listen for your cry--your call to us to come and find you. And with all these changes on our horizon I just want to stop, and marvel at the little boy of mine who wants to go, explore his world. One escalator at a time.