Half a year ago, before three became four, it was summer. A beautiful, mild-mannered, cooler-than-usual summer when Milo and I took daily trips in the early morning hours to the zoo and routine afternoon visits to the playground as my belly grew fuller and rounder with the promise of a brother. Every day was met with a busy ferocity, almost panicked pace to do and see and JUMP! and explore and play. And Milo, at somewhere around 21 months, was absolutely fearless. Untouchable as he maneuvered through his world. When he ran, he ran like the wind, feet moving so fast we were sure he would either take off flying into the sky or fall so hard he would bounce. But he really never fell. He just ran and ran and ran. He jumped off of the highest benches, boulders, playground equipment and landed on his feet every time with a confident grin and then on to the next. He knew he could do anything… before he knew anything, really.

And now…

He hesitates.

I first noticed it when we arrived on a warm(ish) day last week at the same playground we frequented all summer long. Milo surveyed the area as soon as we walked through the crooked chain-link gate and headed straight to the sandbox to climb up onto the big table so he could jump off. He told me about his plan, sauntered over, and with some help from a stool, climbed up onto the table. But instead of jumping right off into the sand like he had so many times before, he hesitated. He looked at me. I nodded and smiled, giving him the go-ahead. He looked down and inched closer to the edge, but did not jump. He looked at me again, this time reaching out his hand. “You can do it,” I reassured him. But he wanted help. He waited until I took his hand to jump, then quietly left the sandbox and did not return to his once-favorite activity.

“What happens when you get old?” he asked me today while we were driving down Connecticut Avenue towards the zoo, just the two of us like old times. Two years and four months old. I was floored.

He had just watched a very elderly man crossing the street with help from a younger man and a walker and had pointed them out to me.

“Sometimes nothing happens, your body just gets older and a little more tired. Other people have a little bit of trouble getting around, like their bones are sore and tired, so they need some help. Some people just slow down a bit.” I didn’t know what else to say. Or I did know, but couldn’t tell him yet. Memories of working in a nursing home when I was 17 flooded my mind, thoughts of dementia, and of wonderful stories, and of Parkinson’s, and friendship, of sorrow and of joy and reflection. I wanted to tell him about life and love and everything I know so far of it, and everything that is yet to come. I wanted to tell him about the love he will feel for someone else that will knock him over it will be so strong. I wanted to tell him about parenthood, how nothing, nothing will prepare him for the vulnerability and all-encompassing devotion he will feel towards his children and family should he choose to have one.

I wanted to tell him about a love so strong it actually hurts. A love that grows each and every day I know him. And his brother. And his father.

Instead, I took my Milo to the zoo again, and marveled at the beauty of his newfound caution.

And now, on a different, completely unrelated note… Milo’s “Pants on the Ground, Twinkle Twinkle, Baa Baa Black Sheep Medley.” Please enjoy this little diddy.*

*Lyrics of “Baa Baa Black Sheep” have been changed to pay hommage to the characters in “Kung Foo Panda,” best new little kid’s animated movie out there. That is why you cannot understand a word he is singing… but thanks for the hilarious movie, Gerlyn & Andrea.