As his third birthday approaches, Jerry seems to be wanting less gravity from me, who until now has been the center of his world.

I am beginning to realize I am no longer the only important person in Jerry Buck's life.

Sure his first words referred to his daddy, but otherwise everyone knew that I was the real apple of his eye, the center of his small world.

Being the primary caregiver, he needed me to do things like cut the crusts off his peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches or make sure he brushed his teeth each day. I'm the one he relied upon to pitch every song so he could sing along, and no one else would do if I were available to kiss the pain away on even the smallest (or best imagined) hurt.

Besides, only a mother will dance like a maniac with her child in the car at a stoplight while listening to the Space Jam CD.

I am Mommy, the center of his world.

The funny thing is, Jerry's world is getting bigger these days. My boy turns 3 next week, and he's no longer that cute-faced little thing that wants to sleep right under your chin or is happy just to be in the same room with you.

No, indeed. That rascal's independent now, wanting to do things like buckle his own car seat and go outside by himself. His mantra is "I do it myself, Mommy."

His focus includes other people, real, quasi-real and cartoon characters. What that basically means is Mommy ranks right up there with Michael Jordan and Barney and Elmo, depending on the day.

I may be able to take him to Six Flags, but Michael Jordan and the gang can get him to outer space in the time it takes to sing "Welcome to the Space Jam."

I'm not sure where this adventurous spirit is coming from. It might be a hoodoo spirit giving him the irresistible urge to ride his tricycle to Mr. Mullins' house. Or it might be Jerry has hypersensitive hearing that alerts him whenever a set of car keys is being picked up by someone he knows.

Whatever the source, all I know is my son's world is expanding.

He demonstrated very clearly that he doesn't need me in his face all the time when he left Friday for a weeklong visit with my sister. Jerry was so excited about his trip that he didn't even want to waste time saying goodbye.

ME: Come give me a kiss, Jerry.

JERRY (as he hangs over the arm of the couch, kisses his hand and sprays said couch with spit): I blow you a kiss, Mommy.

ME: Well, come hug my neck then.

JERRY (watching Clarissa as she looks for her keys): Alright, Mommy, I'll hug -- don't leave me, Ti ti.

Once upon a time, saying goodbye was a lengthy event for Jerry and me. He'd hug me, then run after me for a second hug, then watch me through the window as I walked to my car and drove away.

Nowadays, my goodbyes are more of an interruption as he readies himself for his next adventure.

While I'll miss being Jerry's end-all to end all, I'm happy to see him eagerly preparing for life. I have a rather adventurous spirit myself, so I understand his need to explore and learn to support himself.

Not that I'm going anywhere. As long as I'm Mommy and he'll have me there, I plan to be the center of his world. I'm just loosening my grip a little and allowing him to explore the rest of the universe.

Besides, I've still got PJ for another couple of years.

~Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.