I can’t stop this forward motion. Every day my daughters are growing. Unneeded step stools litter the hall. Audrey can feed the fish by herself and Olivia no longer listens to me read to her. Instead, she reads to me.
Every new school year just reminds me how fleeting their childhoods are. Four and six. Still so little, but weren’t they just a newborn and 22 months old? Spoon-feeding sweet potatoes and mixing formula?
Everyone always says to enjoy every moment and I always feel guilty because there are plenty of moments I have not, do not and likely will not enjoy, but the reason behind the advice rings all too true.
It all goes by so fast.
My heart is aching and I’m not sure why, even. They are older and (for the most part) really enjoyable girls. They are smart and witty and know what they want. I am so pleased with who they are becoming (for the most part. I can already see the sassy pre-teen I’m in for with Olivia!). So grateful to be their mother. So proud of their ever-increasing independence. Their willingness to take the next leap even when they are scared.
But, oh my heart. I try to soak up as many snuggles as I can. Try to burn into my memory the sound of Olivia’s voice and her lisp which is on its way to being replaced by proper pronunciation. Her sweet little voice. I try not to get frustrated when Audrey follows me like a puppy because, “Wherever you go, Mommy, I go.” Someday soon I’ll wonder where she is and what she’s doing and if she misses me.
They are growing up. And I am getting older. I hope that I am making more good memories for them than bad. I hope they know that I am sorry when I shout, that I love them so much it takes my breath away.
Listen to me; I am the creepy lady from I’ll Love You Forever. I hope they don’t mind when I sneak in their houses to rock them when they’re 30.
Because it’s so happening.