Just like yesterday, I don't have any great urge to write, but I'm honoring my decision to write 30 posts in 30 days. What follows are my mental meanderings about paying attention, or not. That either way, my children are growing and changing.
There will be a last time I pick up my youngest child. I won't know it's the last time. I won't realize that he hasn't wrapped his little legs around my belly, little arms around my neck, head on my shoulder until it's been months. Then I won't be able to look back in time and remember the moment of the last time. I can feel this day coming sooner than I'd like with my older son. He's a small 10 so we may have another year or two of running jump hug mommy holding. But I feel the transition coming. I want him to grow up. Still, I ache knowing some things will change unnoticed.
I knew as each started walking that crawling would quickly phase out. I was sad then too, but I knew. Same with sitting up, learning to crawl, weaning. There were chalk marks in time. Right now I'm thinking of the transitions that happen invisibly. Like when words are one day clear, no more endearing pronunciations. Our youngest still says, "yorgut." That may be the last hold out. He wears his shoes on the right feet now too, washes his own hair, dries himself after a bath, and chooses his own clothes. His older brother runs his own bath, often makes himself food, reads to his adoring sibling and spent a couple days teaching him how to draw a few months back. I may be the only person in the world amazed by these talents. It comes from spending countless hours with them when I had to do for them more than what they could do for themselves.
I don't remember when each started reporting the contents of night dreams nearly every morning. I do remember that at first it seemed our oldest was making up a story, calling it a dream so he could be seen as being like mom and dad. We listened just the same. Now, comforting a child at bed time because he's afraid of what he might experience when he drifts off is common.
They're 6 and 10. I was an adult 10 years before my first child was born. Those 10 years took forever! The 10 years I've been an adult since he and then his younger brother came into the world have been a blink. I spend most of everyday with both of them and this doesn't seem to slow the pace. It does give me more memories of their faces at every stage. More than if I had to work outside our home.
Today I realized that I don't know how long it's been since I sat down on the couch with a stack of books and called out, "Story time!" There's no reason I can't take a break from typing, head over to the couch right now and initiate that long ago midday ritual of snuggles and kind conversations over Pooh or The Quilt Maker.
Excuse me, I have plans.