Growing

A strange thing happened to me a couple of months.  It was June.  I loaded my kids up and headed to the park for the 1,312th time over the last 8+ years that I’ve been a mother.  This trip included my daughter, age 6 and my youngest son, age 3 years and 10 months.

As we got to the playground, there was my visiting teacher – a woman a couple of years younger than me.  She has three kids, too – ages 6, 2 and a half and about 6 months.

I commented how, “Wow! Your baby is big enough to be propped up and swinging ever so slightly in the baby swing.”  By this time, I had been abandoned by my kids as they had run off to explore the park, it’s toys and to play with friends.

Not long later my friend commented on how I have no babies anymore – no one hanging on my leg, or begging to pushed in a swing until my arms start to feel like they are going to fall off.

I paused at this observation.  Part of my mind started doing a jig – arms flying and feet tapping to a rhythm in my mind that my real feet could never do.

The other part surprised me.  It shook and screamed: No!  Wait!  Stop growing up!

Over the last 8 years countless people have told me that I would miss this time in my life.  I always nodded politely thinking inside, “No way.  I’ll miss some things, perhaps, but not most things.”

Amazing how those some things make me forget about those most things.

Amazing how I long to rock my oldest son in the nursery of our old house in the dead of night.  I would part the blinds slightly and study the darkened windows of neighbor’s homes and count street lights while I sang “A Child’s Prayer” over and over waiting for him to finish that bottle and fall off to dreamland.

I long for the days when I would bathe my daughter in the tub on the counter.  I would wash the brown, soft curls and get lost in her dark brown eyes as I scraped cradle cap off of her scalp.  Bath time always ended with having a wet middle because she loved (loves) to splash.

Once upon a time my youngest son would toddle over to me just to sit in my lap.  I’ve always been amazed at how his little body fits so perfectly on my imperfect body.  Always a cuddler, he would position his head in the crook of my neck and I would sigh with contentedness.

Toward the end of the play date I realized that I am at a new phase in life as my youngest asked for a turn in the baby swing.

He told me that he’s not too big.

This time, I agreed and pushed him until he was done.

I admit that I would have pushed a lot longer on that day.

Just to hold onto that moment a little bit longer.