The Last. . .

This morning, after I had taken Oliver out of his crib and given him his morning change, I went back to bed and my wife watched him while I tried to sleep off whatever ridiculous cold/flu/plague I can't seem to shake.  While I was sleeping, my wife watched Oliver climb out of the crib and almost fall to the ground.  Just like that, it was time to switch him to a toddler bed.

So we hit up Craigslist, and we looked at some options, and we ended up with a nice little toddler bed.  Oliver was thrilled to have a 'big boy bed,' and we laughed and clapped as we put it together in his room, and he jumped on it until he was dizzy and exhausted.

But then a thought occurred to me: last night was the last night I will ever put Oliver down to sleep in his crib.  Even sadder, this morning was the last morning I will ever see him standing in his crib, smiling, holding out his arms and saying "Up!"

And I didn't know.  This morning when I picked him up out of that crib for the last time, I didn't know it was the last.  If I had known, would I have taken an extra second to smile back at him?  Would I have cherished that weight in my arms as I lifted him?  Would it have mattered if I did?  Would I be more ready for this change -- all these changes -- all these little endings and beginnings?

Probably not.  Life can only be perceived in the rearview mirror.  Most of the important things we only recognize for what they are after they have passed.  So we have to mourn a little, shed a few tears, and then move on, lest we miss the next big thing -- like our freshly minted big boy's first night in his big boy bed.