On Being the Mother of Giants

I have mentioned many times that my sons are big for their ages.  This is never more apparent to me, however, than at the story hour we go to at the library.  It's pretty much the only place I come into close contact with other kids (and that, I'm sure, is a sad commentary on my own reclusive nature, but there you are) and so that's where I see how my kids look in comparison to other kids.

They look freaking HUGE.

Cubby is one of the oldest children that attends now, so he's just like this big lumbering giant among a crowd of pygmies.  I have to stop him from following the smaller children around too closely, because if they stop suddenly and he accidentally runs into them, they're flat on their faces and screaming and he's looking down at them from his great height like, "What just happened there?"

Today he was running around a bench and ran smack into a very little girl on the other side.  She bounced off of him and landed---unhurt--on the floor.  He was unfazed. The girl's mother is, thankfully, very cool and didn't seem too worked up about it.  But I still felt bad about my wrecking ball son and his trail of destruction.

Then there's Charlie.  Charlie is about the same size as this one little boy who is running all around.  This boy is something like 14 months old.  Charlie is five months old.  FIVE MONTHS.

I foresee a lot more fallen children on the scene when he starts running.

I may need to investigate leashes.