I remember when I finally taught my son how to walk. I sat on the floor with my husband at the other end of the room. I was bursting with excitement and it was contagious. My son giggled as he took off. I looked directly into his bright blue eyes. I had never loved someone this much. He was nervous, but I sensed he trusted me. After a half a dozen wobbly steps I wrapped my arms around him, praising this accomplishment. I got teary eyed at the idea that my baby was growing up. I could not have imagined how quickly time would pass. Tonight we reached another milestone. I taught my son how to shave. He isn’t a teenager yet, but it had to be done. He was starting to look like Gabe Kotter. I put a dollop of shaving cream on my finger and coated his upper lip. He giggled at how silly it looked. Clearly, he was nervous, “Mom, don’t cut my lip.” I assured him that after years of shaving my legs I have mastered a razor. In fact, I have thought about giving lessons to the bearded lady who works at the craft store. He relaxed and within minutes his peach fuzz was gone. Afterward, I gently wiped his face with a towel and stood behind him in the mirror. “You are so handsome.” He looked into my eyes and smiled. I wrapped my arms around him once again. Now, he is nearly my height. His shoulders are broad. Gone is the toddler who liked elephants so much he wouldn’t leave the house without his stuffed animal. He is no longer the little boy who had to watch Lady and the Tramp day after day. (watching that movie at 8 a.m. is like being shot with a tranquilizer dart) He was becoming a young man. I cried again and wished for time to slow down, but I know it will not.