Yesterday, I took Westley's highchair apart and put it in the garage. It suddenly occurred to me that I couldn't remember the last time he'd used it.
Well, the last time he'd sat in it. Earlier that morning he'd used the highchair...as a climbing structure-surfboard hybrid and nearly fallen on his head in the process.
Several weeks ago at dinnertime, Westley (belted snugly in his highchair) told Rob, "I wanna sit in your chair." Rob ate many meals with Westley on his lap, the two of them sharing a placemat, sometimes comparing portions and swapping vegetables. That quickly evolved into Westley wanting his own chair, next to Daddy, of course. Now, when the table is set, Westley has his own place setting, with his own water glass, and his own napkin. Or two.
So the highchair was retired to the garage during yesterday's nap. And so far, Westley hasn't asked about it. It joins boxes of tiny clothes and diaper covers, the Johnny Jump-Up, and the soon-to-be-outgrown stroller.
Just like I do with every trip to the garage or attic with baby- or kid-gear to store, I felt a little pang of longing. For that cheeky five-month-old who reached across his highchair tray to steal a whole boiled new potato from my plate (and then bit into it like an apple). For the little man rocking the toddler mullet and the soup spoon. But I was also glad of the little reminder that that little man is growing and changing every single day.
It's not my imagination that Westley is turning into a grown-up human boy person. I've got the growing pile in the garage and he's got his own dining chair to prove it. And his own placemat and his own napkin to put in his lap. Which he actually does, most nights.
