And this is how Pull Up-Gate finally came to a close

Night Nine became Nights Ten and Eleven. Then finally, by the grace of the bladder gods, there was one final morning with a very dry Pull Up.

We laughed, we high-fived, we did a happy dance. Lil E even did the move he calls "shaking his tail feathers." Then, as if the years and experiences flashed forward -- past those anxious steps up the school bus on the first day of kindergarten, past the grunting middle school years, past the drivers license acts of faith and fear, past the prom and rebellious switch to majoring in pottery or something Republicany, all hurdling into the days when bumping booties with mommy in the bathroom is soooo uncalled for -- and he sucked in his breath, pulled back his shoulders and nodded his head.

I saw him nod and it stopped me, probably mid-air, and all I could do was nod back, toss the last worn but un-wet Pull Up into the trash and go on about our business. 

Sure, we celebrated. We had our moment, and later at my proud prompting, we had others with my parents and with his dad and the daycare lady. But the big moment was unspoken. My boy crawled out of bed and stepped over the line into night time dryness. He was thrilled with himself and I knew it. Even if he could only dance for a brief moment, I could still squeal and shake and cheer for us both.

And that, that and the last little dry diaper tossed in the trash, was enough to make my eyes well up. Silently, tail-shakingly teary for my boy, quiet and content and commando.