Babies change fast. It’s hard to see in the moment. I’m mindlessly cleaning and pick up a newborn diaper. How in the world did he fit in that? I grab a pair of onesie pajamas after bath time that can’t zip close over Ronan’s legs.

We took pictures of Ronan next to the same stuffed animal. The clothes changed in each monthly installment. The bear stayed the same. Someone plugged Ronan into a helium tank.

He started to pull himself up on furniture. A healthy gap between his head and the bottom of the table as he stood on two feet. Elevated surfaces meant a safe hiding spot for non-edible objects. For everything is food until proven otherwise. A few days later, a bruise on Ronan’s forehead was proof enough that the clearance had disappeared. Keys, wallets, and the cherished TV remote retreated to the back of countertops and into cabinets. And after a few more days had passed, Ronan’s eye line matched our tallest table. He braced the bridge of his nose against the table’s edge and threw two flailing arms towards whatever cowered just out of reach.

Other instances where Ronan’s growth caught me off guard:

• Refusing to face backward in the stroller.
• Outgrowing his first pair of shoes.
• A preference to eat with a fork rather than his hands. A rare, but impressive feat.
• Carrying his favorite book and then hands it to me as he crawls into my lap to read it.
• Stacking rings. (Not necessarily in order, but gotta start somewhere.) Knocking them over remains the preferred mode of engagement. Nothing competes with the ear-to-ear grin that destruction elicits.