I’ve spent part of this week cleaning out my youngest daughter’s closet.
We are finished having kids-she is our second and last. At eighteen months old, she is a beauty, a delightful chubby baby filled with sweet sugar and kisses and hugs.
Just typing about her makes me want to cry (damn hormones!)
Last night she had difficulty going to sleep. This happens from time to time. Normally she’s a great sleeper. Put her in her crib with her Eeyore stuffy and off she goes. She’ll talk to herself for a bit and then, boom, out she goes.
Last night was different. She cried for a while so I went into her room to hold her, to rock her to sleep.
It was then I realized how big she has gotten. She’s so long that I have to extend my arms wide, and she’s so heavy that I don’t know for how much longer I’ll be able to hold her like this.
It made me cry.
What happened to my little baby? My last baby? Where did the time go?
I find that now that I have babies, time flies. I’m getting so much older so much faster, and my girls are growing so quickly that I can’t keep up with them. They enter a stage and then, like magic, that stage is gone and another has come.
I want to stop time. It’s hard to watch it go. Life moves along so quickly, and then before you know it you are old and your bones creak and your children have children of their own.
Before long, you can’t hold your babies in your arms and rock them goodnight.
Now, that’s a tough pill to swallow.
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