The other night, Toby asked me a pretty simple question. Can he have a fabric placemat like the ones Captain and I use, instead of the cute, laminated one we got him from Bass Pro Shop probably more than a year ago.

“Sure!” I chirped and made the swap, washing the plastic camping scene one more time and storing it in a cupboard. The tug it made on my heart was inordinately large compared to the simple request. I couldn’t stop thinking, “I don’t know if I’m ready for him to use an adult placemat?!” Nooooooo.

To be fair, he’s by far a cleaner eater than Captain. And has been since about age 2. I really should just give Captain the Bass Pro laminated one.

But it’s yet another one of those little moments when the inevitable and inexorable march from baby to man becomes ever more evident. When these mini-humans are younger, there are those ever-so-important “milestones.” Smiling. Laughing. Crawling. Walking. The bucket list of infanthood. We wait expectantly for each one, rejoicing when our child resembles a blob a bit less and a human a bit more.

Then they hit the phase where they somewhat resemble a person. They walk. They talk in sentences. They run. They say no. A lot. There aren’t really any new ‘skills’ to attain. You know, other than sarcasm. I can’t wait til Toby masters that one. Given his genes, it’ll be soon.

The waypoints on the journey morph from milestones to milepebbles. You cruise through the days, with these munchkins every so gradually learning new words, to skip, how to slam the bedroom door. The road seems to level off, without the dramatic ups and downs and the huge, recognizable, photo-op ‘milestones.’

Now it’s the little tiny moments that every so often jump up out of nowhere and remind you of the progress being made. The correct usage of “actually” in a sentence. The night he puts a sensible amount of toothpaste on his toothbrush. The day he puts his own socks on, paying careful attention to where the heel goes. The time his face crumples when he tells you that none of his friends are going to come to his birthday “Because they don’t know where Lorne Rd. is.” And as I hug him and assure him I’ll make sure they know how to get here, I marvel that he has this social life so separate and that I’m going to have to add worrying about his little introverted self (oh, I can tell already) navigating it to my list.

The milepebbles are definitely more bittersweet than the milestones, somehow. They’re like glimpses of the future popping up when you least expect it. It’s so much fun to see who he’s becoming, but it makes me wistful to think of the parts of him he’s leaving behind. I’m keeping the Bass Pro placement. It’ll come in handy for Captain, at least.