It’s a birthday eve in our house: the boy with the sparkliest eyes is turning six (SIX!) tomorrow. His whole babyhood wrapped up in a flash. As much as I would like to scoop up every gone age of him and rock them all in my lap, it’s the heft of another baby I feel on my arm now.
The thing about being a parent I was never prepared for was how much I would miss the past ages. Not all the stages, no. For sure there are some rough spots I’ve always been glad to see go, some developmental obstacles no amount of mommy cult kool-aid swilling could make pleasant. But having children and watching them grow is like saying good-bye to favorite friends who move away. The big difference being that I can’t even send a postcard to my dumpling of a toddler son or the most precocious three year old girl I ever knew, because they’re gone. They’re down the hall from me as I write, grown and similar, but gone. As much as I love the awesome big kids they are now, sometimes I sure do miss who they were.
But enough waxing sappy! I have a whole mess of paper 6s to cut out and hang up from that sleeping boy’s ceiling. Birthday mornings start off with bang at our house, but oh! the night before can be late and bleary for the mama.