The minutes defy their 60-second confines.The swollen hours haltingly circle the clock.Tick.
And then, some days later: Tock.
The days stretch like taffy from one fleeting slumber to the next.
Until one morning you wake up and, rather suddenly and completely without warning, he's one.Somehow the plodding individual moments of 365 torpid days have coalesced into a year that raced past in a heartbeat.
In the blink of an eye.
In the change of a diaper.
He's one.
