Forgive the rambling nature of this post, as I can't believe I am even up writing this at the ungodly hour of 10:30 at night, considering I have spent the whole day fantasizing about the moment I would finally, finally, snuggle in under the covers, read my book for three minutes, then turn off the light and fall immediately to sleep. But reading said book, the main character was talking about her version of heaven, interesting since I recently delved into that topic myself. The very last thing the character listed in her heaven was it was "filled with children who never got older than five" and, dear readers, I was crushed under the weight of a wave of grief the intensity of which I have not felt since I lay in bed during a depressing trip to England with my father and sister, trying to run away from our own brokenness after my mother's recent death. That is how I felt tonight thinking about my children getting older. And I know I have written about this before, in varying degrees, so please also forgive me my repetitiveness.
I'm sure you are laughing out loud at the absurdity of this as I spend ninety percent of my time on this blog bitching about how overworked and tired I am dealing with three children under the age of seven. But even I, with my acidic sarcasm know how fleeting this time is. My oldest, even now, having just a few weeks ago been allowed to start watching Hannah Montana and High School Musical is starting to lose some of the doe eyed openness of early childhood. She has acquired a new, more mature speech pattern that leaves me speechless as she describes an interaction between two classmates with one hand on her hip, a miniature reflection of my own stance during conversations at the kitchen counter with H. How much longer do I have when all my children can be called "little"? How many more Sunday mornings do I have when they are all three so excited to climb into bed with us that the bed frame creaks in protest at the staggering weight of my abundance? Will it be a clear turning point one morning when they no longer crave this closeness or will it be a gradual falling away I don't realize too late it's gone?
Before I dragged the laptop into bed with me, I went into their rooms to kiss them desperately on their foreheads. I regretted earlier in the day when I was unable to let #1 sit in my lap at the dinner table because I was monitoring her brothers consumption of an entire piece of pizza (not cut up in pieces, another step forward). I stood there wondering when #2 would stop saying," Ummm....I LOVE YOU!" when she has forgotten what she called me into the room for. Standing there in the dark of their room I wanted to scream, "STOP! Stay. Don't go. It's so much nicer here and now."
Perhaps a lot of this is being brought on by the impending move. Giving away baby gear and clothes. Packing away small tokens of each of their infant selves as remembrances, wondering how they were all ever small enough to be held in the crook of my arm, holding their fuzzy tennis ball heads in my palm as they nursed. This house has been my nest and leaving it I feel like we are embarking on a new stage in life and while I welcome the diaper free existence that will eventually bring, I am already grieving for this time now, when it was me and my three babies, when this was their whole world.
2 comments:
This entry made me so sad, Mary. I already see my 9 month old's face morphing from baby to little boy (I know, sounds ridiculous, but it's true).
I hurt sometimes thinking how quickly it's all passing but you're right, it's about absorbing these moments, even if you feel overwhelmed, because you can't get this time back.
Its heartbreaking to watch them take steps away from you. But that is our job afterall - to send them out of the nest with thier wings spread open.
My philosophy has been that we need to grow together or we will grow apart.
I'll let you know if it works...
Sasha
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