Sometimes I am acutely aware of the passage of time.
Like how on the first day of Pre-K I could climb onto the bus, give boatloads of hugs and kisses, take on-the-bus photos, and then have the school call and text that all children arrived safely… and on the first day of Kindergarten how the bus pulled up, Ryan climbed on and he was gone – a little boy amongst comparative giants, stepping out of the bubble and into the world.
Like how…
…I sometimes roll my eyes at the 2,458th special request at bedtime but how I’ll miss these ridiculous stall tactics when my children no longer want me to cuddle “for just one more minute – PLEASE!” or sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star with a pajama-clad tush sitting on my head.
…that cute little boy tush in Superhero underwear will be off-limits to me for the rest of my life – probably starting any day now.
…Lexi squeals with delight when I pick out her clothes and magically make everything look good in her eyes – “now THIS is a SWEATSHIRT – sweatshirts are AWESOME!” and “DORA loves this shirt and she’ll be SO happy you wore it!”
…I can no longer pick out Ryan’s Halloween costume for him. Or his clothes. Or his shoes. Or really, anything without his consent.
…I get woken up by having a solid human body cannonball into me at 5:50 a.m. to snuggle under the covers when one day I’ll have to drag that body out of bed for school and get attitude for it.
Although I look forward to watching my kids grow into self-sufficient young adults, a part of me hopes that the little kid within each of them will always need their Mommy. And I will be there with open arms.
Even for a cannonball.
