Kyle has called granola bars "hot bars" for as long as he could string two words together. I don't honestly know where it came from, I have a few guesses, but mainly I just found it adorable and loved it and never wanted him to call them by the right name.
Months and months ago, A'Dell and I were hanging out and she heard him say it and kind of looked at me sideways. "He still calls them hot bars?" I was as surprised as she was, that he was holding on to this so-wrong-but-so-cute pronunciation.
"I know! Don't correct him!"
Last night, at three years and almost four months, he reached into the pantry and said, "I want a ganola bar." Mike and I looked at each other over his head, a little sad about what we heard.
What I hate about so many of these parenting goodbyes is that you don't actually know you're saying them. I don't remember the last time he said "hot bar." I don't know if we have video of it. One day our own memories will fail us and what then? "Hot bar" may never exist at all. (I NEED TO PRINT THESE BLOG POSTS OUT, THAT'S WHAT.)
In all seriousness, that moment hit me harder than the no-more pacifier, no-more bottle, no-more crib, no-more diapers moments hit me. My baby is clearly no longer a baby, no confusion there, and I've been pretty okay with him getting older. (He just gets more awesome anyway.) Then he asked for a "ganola" bar and my heart sank.
I've been trying to figure out why and I guess it comes down to this: saying goodbye to phases and stages and milestones is expected and manageable. Saying goodbye to something that is so uniquely Kyle just sucks.
I'm giddy about who he's becoming and who we get to be together but saying goodbye to who he has been doesn't seem to get any easier.