As I mentioned in my blog about our trip to Bird Island, we have been there before.

Sam was ten-months-old at the time of our first trip, and managed to cut a couple of teeth and take his first steps over that weekend. The images of a chubby little guy being toted on Dad's back are our burned into our memories of the islands, and it seemed almost strange to be back in a place so little changed with a kid that had so much ... changed, that is.

Although I can easily see the boy in the baby photos, it does get harder and harder to see the baby in the boy as he grows and takes daily steps in development toward the look that will eventually be manly and hairy and driving and dating and marrying and fathering in his own right.

At almost five he is lanky and long and the dimpled thighs I found so nibbly-tempting back before he used them for striding around and leaping and running and climbing, and all the other stuff he does so effortlessly now, are muscle-hard and taut and sinewy, and not at all the doughy-soft chewables of babyhood.

His fat little feet, almost square up until he started using them to get around, are now long, and they no longer leave flat prints, but show evidence of an arch. His hands, too, are now totally within the realm of his control and no longer sport dents that define knuckles, but the bony protrusions that signify his baby hands are gone for good.

The wonderful proportions of babies that have their raised hands at the ends of fully-extended little arms not even close to being able to meet together over the top of a really big head ... in comparison to the rest of the body ... are long gone on my boy, and he has a full eight inches or so of extra arm on each side when he makes the same maneuver these days.

No longer limited to gurgles, squeaks, grunts, squeals and cries, Sam now communicates with a full and varied vocabulary in two languages, and has absolutely no problem making his wishes known and his thoughts conveyed. With a repertoire of dozens of songs, stories both learned and invented, and opinions by the truck-full, occasions where he and I silently stare into each other's eyes and smile for unbroken minutes at a time, a pastime we both enjoyed in his baby days, are rare.

Excuse me, please.

Sniff ...