See this picture?
It's just Dylan, standing on the couch, banging on the top of his drum. He's smiling, his legs have cuts and bruises all over them, he has a few cuts on his nose... nothing appears to be out of the ordinary. But, people, this moment is HUGE!
I remember one time, years ago. I was holding Dylan in my lap, and he was drinking his first bottle of the day. Jim was getting ready to go to work, and as he walked past us, he stopped dead in his tracks. My normally even keeled, slow to show much enthusiasm husband practically shrieked and jumped up and down. "HE'S HOLDING HIS OWN BOTTLE!!!! WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!!!" It was a big moment.
This is like that. Let me tell you what it is like to get Dylan dressed in the morning. When Dylan gets up in the morning, he is immediately ON, ready to go, talking nonstop, and planning his day and all the things he wants to do RIGHT NOW. Getting him dressed usually goes something like this...
Me: "Dylan, come here so I can take your diaper off (he still wears one to sleep). Dylan, come here. DYLAN!! I need to take your diaper off. Dylan! I'm going to count to five. One...Two...Three... Okay, now stand still. No, don't pick that up! Just stand here! Dylan! Here's your underwear. Put this on!"
Dylan: "Is this how it goes?"
Me: "No, turn it around. The tag goes in the back, remember? In the back!!"
Dylan: (Gets them up, but they are bunched up and the band is all discombobulated) "I can't do it!"
Me: "You did it, it's just a little messed up. Come here, and I'll fix it. Here, put your shorts on now. Dylan! Come back here! Put your shorts on!"
Dylan: "I need to draw a picture".
Me: "NO! You NEED to get dressed!!"
Etc, etc... It is frustrating and exhausting, and getting him to school on time last year was a bit of a nightmare.
This morning I was still trying to wake up. I could hear him banging around in his room, but I didn't know what he was doing. When I walked in, he had taken his diaper off, put his underwear on, put his shorts on, got a shirt out of his armoire and was putting it on. I'm telling you, I almost passed out from the shock. He put on every bit of clothing in that picture... himself. Without my prodding, warning, complaining. I am not frustrated or exhausted. I am ELATED. Now, if we could just all join hands and sing a round of "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah"?