Everyday Life: The Dog Days of Three

I feel like I'm melting.

It's 95 degrees outside, and my baby boy and I are cruising the forest preserve discussing life according to toddlers when he looks up at me, eyes that match the bluest of cornflowers staring at my own, and exclaims, "pick me up! I want you!"

And the slow drip of sweat on my forehead meets the slow melt of my heart.

I pick him up 

despite him weighing 30 long and solid pounds.

I pick him up

despite the heat he adds to my own.

I pick him up 

because at just south of 4 he still wants to be carried

And 

because I still can. 

I still can carry more than just his heart around in mine. 

The weatherman says our beach-going days are as numbered as our days spent lingering in toddlerhood. 

About the time we'll sing him into his fourth birthday, we'll trade hot sun and warm waves for crisp air and sweatshirts. 

We sweat and snuggle beneath blue skies and sun, coo and wonder at the spread of flowers and water and late-summer life around us enjoying the dog days of summer 

and the dog days of three years old.