The last hour spent with George in my arms.
A (well meaning, I'm sure) lady standing beside us, watching me shift his weight.
"How old is your son?" she asks.
At my answer (five), she addresses him in a fake, super-saccharine voice, "you're such a big boy, much too big for your mommy to carry."
Um, thanks but no thanks.
"He's fine", I answer, and walk away.
There are things you can't see, things you don't know.
No, he wasn't tired. When in an open area, he quickly scampered down and ran free.
But the zoo is a crowded place.
Full of nooks and crannies and people.
Look here! See that! What is it? What sound does it make?
Demands on his processing skills, assaults on his sensory perception.
Quite simply, after a couple of hours, he was full.
He found it difficult to focus on and enjoy the remaining animals, though they were some he had wanted to see.
A quick glance, a response of "yeah", and then his head returned to burrow in my neck, hands tucked between us.
So yes, I carried my five year old big boy for an hour.
And I loved every minute.
Even at almost 1,000 pounds, little boys need help from their mommas.