I’m feeling quite nostalgic lately for the little years–the ones that at the time left me tired and drained and so empty I was certain I’d never feel like a whole, independent person again.
I’m close enough to remember that bone-level weariness but far enough away to tear up when I notice just how big my baby, my last baby, truly is.
There are so many mothering moments that are simply done now: nursing, naps with a baby on my chest, first steps, first words.
Next school year, Roger will join the girls on Mondays at their homeschool academy. For a full school day, I will be free as a bird. As an introvert who has only been apart from my brood for maybe a week total over eight years, I’m desperately looking forward to it. I enjoy my own company, and I truly think it will be good for everybody.
That means I only have 10 more Mondays with Roger by himself. 10 more gas station trips after we drop off the girls, 10 more rounds of “I Spy” while we sip our drinks and Roger relishes getting to sit in the front seat (obviously, we are not driving at this time).
Today, it’s sunny and 72. In February! We did our gas station run and went to get groceries. I had to do some cooking, so I moved the play kitchen to the real kitchen. He made “lunch” and “creations” while I dealt with Dish Mountain and bulk cooking taco meat and fajita veggies.
And then I put off the rest of what was on my list and we went to the park. Eventually, I grew tired of play, as grown ups often do–a reminder that nothing lasts forever.
And a greater reminder of the big picture here: nothing lasts forever with childhood, so it’s best to enjoy it with an open hand. And to anticipate whatever joys the next season will bring.