Growing Pangs

We are prepping for a move.  It seems like I’ve been saying that once a year for the past 10 years of my life.  And in the midst of figuring out what will go and what will stay, separating the stuff that seems to multiply, I sat down and went through Layla’s outgrown clothes.

It seems like yesterday I was sorting out newborn clothes, pulling tags off of socks, and washing it all, sorting it into what I thought I would need first, and what I would need  later on; folding blankets, putting furniture together, loading a car seat into the car for the first time. 

The tiny little baby I snuggled against my heart, rocked and sang to, dressed in frilly dresses and socks, she is gone.  In her place is a walking, talking, into everything toddler, who’s favorite phrase, I do it!, is an echo of the independent, wild-cat streak that runs through me.  She tries to pull her clothes over her head, put her own shoes on, can hold her own bottle thank you very much, and is very into feeding herself.  She also argues with me in babytalk when she’s mad, and I have no idea, at all, where she gets this from.  (If you believe this, I have some beachfront property in Arizona I’d like to sell you.)

I am feeling the pang of growing up, of losing my baby only to have her replaced by my child, more acutely these past few days.  That baby that I carried, gave birth to, slept with, fed, and watched make all those amazing milestones, was growing.  For each milestone she made, she was snipping a string to my heart, telling me to start prepping to let her go. 

Last night, as I was tucking her back into bed, I realized how close the day is when I will let her go.  It seemed like it would stretch out forever, the time I would be Mom to a child.  But the first year and a few months of her life have slipped by in the time it takes me to blink back tears. 

And time is not slowing down either.  I cannot press pause on the good days, when the sun is amazingly warm, and we sit in the grass blowing bubbles, when she runs up and down a sandy beach, or when we wile away a few hours with some books and a nap.  Those days come and go and are nothing but memories.  Soon I will not have a need for vanilla pudding cups, or food dye, or dried pasta, other than their original purpose.  My life will not be dominated by sippy cups and string cheese. 

I said, just a few short days ago, that I was looking forward to the days when my life was not about diapers and bottles.  I take it back… I want those days.  I want to keep those days, when my little girl was wonderful and new, when she allowed me to lead her, when I could still keep up with her tiny feet across my living room floor. 

I am most definitely not ready for her to cut the apron strings, for her to snip away at the ties that bind, even as she tries harder and harder to do just that.

~Jennifer

Be good to her world, as she races out into the sunshine... be kind, be soft, and please don't let her fall too hard.