I woke sort of lazily this morning and was surprised to see the red numbers on the clock beside my bed.
I heard Rye through the monitor; he was obviously awake, but I didn't think he'd been calling for us.
By the time I got upstairs a few minutes later, he was yelling, "Daddy! Mommy! It's time to get up!"
I turned the corner to his room and was surprised to see:
a) his door wide open
b) him sitting up, cross-legged, smiling in his bed
c) his lamp on
"Well, hi!" I said. "Did you open your door and turn on your light?"
"Yeah!" he said. "And I went potty all by myself. And I went poopy. But I didn't flush. And I took my shorts off."
I couldn't believe it.
The evidence was there in the bathroom, and he even did a darn good job wiping.
Wow. My 3-year-old now no longer needs me for anything really than getting him things he can't reach, using the stove to cook him things and loving him, of course.
That's most important, but still. I wasn't quite ready for this transition to so much independence.
Even when we went downstairs, he insisted on opening the refrigerator to get him some apple juice. And he chose a juice box that he opened himself instead of juice I would have had to pour into a cup.
Later, he was playing by himself and announced: "Look, I made a rocket just like Boba Fett's."
And, yes, there on the floor, he had used his six light sabers to make a giant replica of the rocket Boba Fett, a Star Wars character, carries on his back.
I asked Dane if he had shown Rye how to do that.
No, he hadn't.
Guess we better hold on and pay attention. Our babies grow up in the blink of an eye.