Hello, Goodbye

June 24, 2009

I am overwhelmed, today – and was overwhelmed yesterday, and the day before that, and am certain that I will be similarly overwhelmed tomorrow – with this singular thought: I do not want my boy to grow up.

I don’t. I just don’t. I know that his future is bright and amazing and that the him that he will be in that bright and amazing future is a him that I will adore with every ounce of the intensity that I adore him now, and then some, but.


At this precise moment in time I am so love with Baby Him, with his soft, pale curls and his baby-tooth grin and his chubby baby bum and his tiny, grabby fists that clutch and hold and cling and the fact that I can press him to me and just hold, just hold on and breathe him in and pretend that we are still two pieces of one body, that I could, if I wanted to, press him back into my chest to beat as my own heart. This him, this incarnation of the human being that he is, this small, precious, sweet-smelling clutchable form of him – this I want to keep. This I want not to lose.

I know that this is impossible; wrong, even. I know that I should rejoice in the fact that he grows, he thrives, he marches – he leaps! he runs! he tumbles! – steadfastly forward into his own future. And I do, I do rejoice in this, just as I have rejoiced in the transformation of his sister from baby into girl. But I also mourn.

This is a truth about being a parent that nothing and no-one can prepare you for: that it is a continual experience of loss, a never-ending stream of moments of goodbye. That from the moment your children come into your life you are losing them. That the person your child is today is a person you will never meet again, a person that you will, in some ways, forget, as he or she is replaced by new people, bigger people, faster people, people with more words, people with more independence, people whose primary purpose is to move continually away from you. I look at Emilia and I can barely remember who she was as a baby; that baby, that her, is gone and obscured in the fog of my memory. I adore the girl that she is, of course, and the woman that she will become, but still: sometimes I miss that baby. Sometimes I miss that baby with an ache so deep that I feel it in my toes.

And so when I look at Jasper these days, when I watch him toddling and stumbling and pitching his fat little self forward, eager, into his sunlit future, I feel that ache and although I try to push it down, to push it away to make room for the joy of racing forward to meet the Jasper that he is becoming, I keep failing, and instead of pushing it away I let it sit in my belly like a weight and hold me still while I squeeze him to me, my baby, and try to freeze time for an eternity.

Or more.

mah baby


Because I am forgetting, and regretting that I forget: Wordless Wednesdays over at Their Bad Mother are henceforth going to be Wordless This Wednesday In History Wednesdays. Because, this. I need to cling to this.

Join me if you feel so inspired.

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    avasmommy June 24, 2009 at 12:23 pm

    Once again, woman, you are IN MY HEAD. How do you do it? It can’t be just the universal truths of motherhood.

    I read this post and my stomach tightened and my eyes welled up. I feel all these things.

    My baby recently turned one. We had her pictures taken. There is one where she is in her bathing suit, up on her knees with her hands over her head. I told my husband, “I look at this and I no longer see baby. I see a little girl.” How can something make you so proud and yet break your heart into millions of pieces?
    .-= avasmommy´s last blog ..Mothers =-.

    Y June 24, 2009 at 12:27 pm
    Jamie June 24, 2009 at 12:29 pm

    This was amazing and totally captures how I feel. I like the growing. I really do, but I mourn the passing of each stage. It’s why I cry every birthday. It’s always bittersweet to welcome the new and say goodbye to what’s passing.
    .-= Jamie´s last blog ..I hadn’t heard of this until today and yet… =-.

    foradifferentkindofgirl (fadkog) June 24, 2009 at 12:33 pm

    I swear, this is me. Every day. And my boys are bounding so far away from toddlerhood. I ached this weekend looking at a book my 11 year old (which, how did that happen?!) pulled out that he’d written in first grade, filled with photos of his tiny baby self. Quite honestly, I am not doing very well with the idea of them growing up, regardless of how amazing they are turning out to be!

    Sarah @ BecomingSarah.com June 24, 2009 at 12:42 pm

    I’m in the last couple weeks of my first pregnancy and already I’ve started to think about this, about how as soon as I’ve given birth, I’ve lost the baby inside of me, and the day following, I’ve lost the child I birthed, and three weeks later, I’ve lost my precious infant.

    I just never thought of it as a continual loss. It’s true that nobody tells it to you that way, but then again, who could? What could they possibly say? You will gain and lose your greatest joy? People would never procreate if they knew that, would they?

    Then again, maybe they would.
    .-= Sarah @ BecomingSarah.com´s last blog ..37 Weeks: full term. =-.

    Her Bad Mother June 24, 2009 at 3:13 pm

    Yeah, they would. Because it’s also a continual gain, a continual moment of hello.

    Bittersweet in the extreme, but that sweet is worth the bitter. Well worth.

    Kris June 24, 2009 at 1:11 pm

    I feel this way exactly about my 10 month old boy. Maybe it’s because I know I won’t have anymore babies – but with ever piece of baby gear he outgrows, or tiny baby socks that I pack away – I bawl that he’s changing. Just growing up too fast. I feel like I’m trying to cling to these moments, but there are moving too quickly for me to get a hold of. They slip through my fingers and I try again for the next moment.
    I gaze at my 3 year old in total shock – how did she get so big? So grown up? Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a ten year old. It breaks my heart to think that one day these moments will be distant memories that are blurry in my aging brain. Sigh…
    Very well written post. Thanks.
    .-= Kris´s last blog ..Annoyed =-.

    Sarcastica June 24, 2009 at 1:28 pm

    You are also in MY head, which is weird. I was just thinking about this today!

    Love that picture of Jasper!
    .-= Sarcastica´s last blog ..Still Growing =-.

    Amy June 24, 2009 at 1:42 pm

    That’s it. The continual sense of loss. People get a little freaked out when I tell them that I distinctly remember the feeling when my first son’s head was out of me but the rest of his body was not. It was so emotional, knowing that I had to let go. I just wanted time to stand still. While I couldn’t wait to see his face and hold him in my arms, I also knew that after I did that, at some point I’d have to let him go.
    And now he’s four. [sigh]

    Kaye June 24, 2009 at 2:15 pm

    Boy do I understand this. When my son left home to join the military, I did not handle it very well. The depth of my feelings about him leaving kind of took me by surprise. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but I was not prepared for the overwhelming grief I felt. Took me months of therapy to deal with it. I am very proud of the person he has become and love the young man to pieces, but, omg…what I wouldn’t give to be able to hold his baby self again.

    Love the pic of Jasper. So sweet.

    lb June 24, 2009 at 2:17 pm

    This is something people don’t talk about. I miss my babies all the time. Sometimes it’s intense and sometimes just a bit wistful but it’s always there.

    Della June 24, 2009 at 2:33 pm

    At 16 months “in”, I get it. I was talking about this with my mom last night, in fact (your deep thoughts are SO often coinciding with mine, it’s a little disconcerting but what a blessing, since you bring to the front of my mind what was formerly lurking, semi-unthought, in its dark corners).

    I recently went back and organized some videos from March, and remarked to my husband that our J looked like SUCH a baby even as recently as that. Back at the time, I had been thinking how he was such a big boy, becoming a toddler. But comparing the video to my boy of today, I realize it was a different child – a different level of the same child – and the prospect of losing the child I have today to his 17, 19, 24-month old selves is gutwrenching!

    As I read your sentence (about continual loss), a thought clicked. I recognized that this cycle of loss, in all things, is the journey that defines life.

    The adage “you can never go home again” is another facet of that loss. I was probably the only highschooler that mourned each year when graduation came around, recognizing this. I was one of the few in my small hometown that didn’t waste breath and swagger on telling everyone how fast I was going to bust out of town and get somewhere interesting. Instead, I mourned that my friends were blind to their loss – of our sense of community, of our standard for how life was lived, of each other (because as surely as you can not come home again, as surely as Jasper will become a man, THAT surely, we would become someones other than our selves of then). The school building itself was ravaged the week after I graduated, remodeled and changed into something Other, a place I did not know or belong. It was replaced two years later by a building I’ve never set foot in, partly for lack of reason and partly to avoid the crash of that sense of loss.

    My husband and I have spent many nights talking about what we would do if we could afford to have a second home somewhere. We keep mentioning we’d love to have a vacation home in my old hometown. But aside from the climate and the physical scenery (the Ann Arbor area is beautiful in late summer and in the fall!), I have to acknowledge that too much of what I yearn for is already lost.

    My communities are gone: performance groups disbanded, church memberships shifted, friends relocated, family fragmented and moved. It makes my heart ache to write it, knowing the extent of what no longer exists to reclaim. Even my physical havens are gone. Church and school buildings rebuilt, remodeled or replaced. Homes sold and changed. Stores closed down, workplaces closed, fields built over.

    And the truth is, I am gone, too. In many ways, this is an improvement: much of my arrogance has been blunted, my naievity informed, my rigidness relaxed, my flightiness settled. I have gained adulthood. In other ways, the loss hurts. I have lost much of my youthful optimism and find myself bitter and cynical many days. Experience has robbed me of much of my confidence. A few years with an extremely antisocial boyfriend who comprised my entire social circle cramped and withered my social muscles.

    I could continue this catalogue of loss, but I have really spent more time on it already than I should. Besides, I’m not convinced that further examples are needed enhance the argument. I expect that most of us have realized, or are now opening our eyes to, this type of loss – small enough to be missed until you turn around to grab hold of what is gone.

    Ultimately, I think the key is to acknowledge the coming, continuing loss and then… to survive, to move forward in life instead of being stuck forever, we have to accept what’s new. Embracing the replacement can be easy when what’s lost to the past was bad. Sometimes, it is so easy we don’t even notice it has happened (I have several gray hairs. My stepdaughters are 6″ taller than they were when we met. I’m on twitter and I have a blog, and I rarely get on AIM anymore.) and don’t bother to mourn the change.

    But sometimes what we’re losing is being torn from our grasp. We may have pain from anticipating the loss. Even if it is a surprise, we feel it as it happens, and it heals slowly. Embracing that loss – embracing change – hurts.

    And yet, it is impossible to refuse to let go. Life continues to change. What we wish to hold on to slips from our grasp, whether we will it or not. And to live, to continue on in life, we have to accept the loss, because it is non-negotiable.

    For a life worth living, the key is not to continue holding on to what will be lost, what is already lost. It is not even simply accepting the loss. We must go further, and accept the new. For life to have vibrance, for us to find each day worth living, we must live with what is here now. Welcome it if you can. Accept it if it’s not welcome.

    It’s much easier said than done. Sometimes what’s here now is, for us, un-accept-able. Perhaps we will be glad to lose it to tomorrow.

    And perhaps, if we turn east, we will see dawn breaking, and can embrace the loss of the morning twilight and gain the sunrise. For this, too, shall pass.

    (PS Catherine – I didn’t want to chance losing this, so I did post it on my blog as well as here. Thanks for letting me threadjack you again. Thanks for making my brain and heart exercise when so often they would just go through the day asleep.)
    .-= Della´s last blog ..This, too… =-.

    Her Bad Mother June 24, 2009 at 3:14 pm

    Yes. The sunrise. YES.

    Jill June 24, 2009 at 3:23 pm

    As usual, a beautifully written piece. But I can’t say I agree with you entirely. I don’t look at the milestones and passage of time as goodbyes, but rather celebrations. I don’t wish for a second my kids were babies again. Not that I didn’t love their baby selves, but I get more and more joy out of them with every new phase they enter (which will likely change when they read adolescence, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it). I rarely find myself sentimental over what was or how they were. Personally, I had kids to watch them grow and help them become the best people they can be, so the joy for me comes from seeing each new facet of that peoplehood coming into focus. I know I am probably in the minority, but I am often baffled by the strife and agony mothers express over their kids moving on to the next place in their lives — starting preschool, kindergarten, giving up that thing that made them a baby or a toddler, in favor of what makes them a “big kid.” That’s what kids do. That’s what people do. They thrive and they grow (under the right circumstances) and they grow up and learn new things and reach new heights and that, to me, is to be celebrated not mourned or cried over. But that is me.
    .-= Jill´s last blog ..Wordless Wednesday – One year ago today… =-.

    Her Bad Mother June 24, 2009 at 3:33 pm

    Oh, I totally get it about the joy of celebrating their growth. It’s what makes it all worthwhile. It’s why we do this, why we love it.

    But today, ah today: I am looking at my baby and wishing he could stay like this, wishing that I could preserve this. Because, gah. SO ADORABLE. SO MINE.

    Josie June 24, 2009 at 3:24 pm

    I feel this exact same way about my 19 yr old son. Somehow him coming home for a cpl months between school and summer employment has made me ache for more time with him
    I feel he is becoming his own so person so fast that I am no longer needed or required.

    Lindsay June 24, 2009 at 3:29 pm

    I feel the same way about my son. Something about him being my last makes his growing up heartwrenching. I am constantly staring at his plump litle cheeks and legs, realizing that in another year, the baby plumpness will be all but gone. *sob*
    .-= Lindsay´s last blog ..OK, OK. Judge. =-.

    Her Bad Mother June 24, 2009 at 3:34 pm

    Jasper just started looking a lot less fat. He’s getting taller and leaner. And as goes the chub, so goes his babyness.


    Tara-Lynn June 24, 2009 at 5:44 pm

    I so completely get where you are coming from. Each year when one of the children has a birthday, I sit by them sleeping and wonder where all of the years have gone. They are 6 and 8 now, and really just growing up way too fast.

    That baby Jasper of yours is very cute!

    Catharine June 24, 2009 at 6:00 pm

    It’s amazing (and impressive) how aware you are of the feelings of loss that accompany a child’s growing older — and while your children are still so young! My kids are teenagers now and god, do I ever ache for that baby-love. We think we are going to remember every detail of our their young lives but we don’t. We can only know and love our children exactly how they are at this very moment, and that state of being is always changing. However, what I do remember is my heart splitting open with a love so strong that it was painful. I think before I had kids, I was loving in two dimensions and after having babies, I realized that I have the capacity to love in three dimensions. I love my kids (as teenagers) as fiercely as ever, but they will never accept my love (or love me back)–the way babies do– again.

    Vickie June 24, 2009 at 6:50 pm

    Yes, exactly!

    Jessica Ashley (Sassafrass) June 24, 2009 at 8:22 pm

    I am so torn over delighting in all the ways my almost-5-year old boy is growing and learning and becoming more and more himself and in wanting to freeze him in time so many moments along the way.

    Part of this, I know, is because I am trying (trying, trying) to come to grips with the idea that I may not have more children and there may not be more babies to nurse, cuddle, bitch about getting up so many times in the night with, and experience all these firsts with — again. That breaks my heart, honestly.

    So what do you do? Other than say this honest stuff out loud and take a gazillion bedillion mental and digital photos to try to hold it all as tightly as possible?


    Marinka June 24, 2009 at 9:15 pm

    The first time I went through this realization of loss was when my daughter was born. I just cried and I thought that it was the post partum stuff and in partum (!) in was, but it was also a realization that every second we’re that much closer to the end. It’s pure heartbreak. I confided in my father and he said “yes, but the journey is so worth it”. My children are older now–8 and 10, almost 11 and I can say honestly that I could not have envisioned the joys of them at this age when they were babies. It’s fantastic to see (and to take credit).

    And yet, last week I sat at my breakfast table and wept because it is all so fleeting. But I assumed that I was premenopausal.
    .-= Marinka´s last blog ..Is That It? =-.

    Jessica June 24, 2009 at 9:32 pm

    Ugh. This is all so true. Some days just whiz by and at the end of the night, when I’m peering at his sleeping form from the crack in his door I think, “Will I really remember what *this* feels like? I don’t remember what it was like to nurse him to sleep anymore…”

    It’s just all so sad…

    mimi June 24, 2009 at 10:58 pm

    I am torn up, usually, by the opposite of this: you know, when your child is a *sprited* *infant* and you pray so fervently that they get past that infernal SCREAMING stage, and then they do, and then you’re sad, like somehow you made it happen with your impatience and tiredness and now it’s gone, you ungrateful terrible woman, you? Or is that just me? Just me? Okay. [retreats into hole]

    Her Bad Mother June 25, 2009 at 9:35 am

    No, that was me with Emilia. That is still me in some moments with Emilia. ‘Let’s get past THIS freak out stage, PLEASE?’ But then, always, the inevitable sad that it slipped by, screaming and all…

    Boy Crazy June 24, 2009 at 11:31 pm

    Every mother can relate. I remember when I gave birth to my first son, my husband laid next to me on the bed holding our little boy. I was the one to reach over and cut his cord and for a moment — I hesitated. Even in that moment, in that hormonal high of brand spankin’ new motherhood, I realized that *that* was the first of many steps I would be taking in the process of letting him go. *sigh*

    Three kids later, it is the same. And as we all celebrate the growth and changes, I really think we all must have days or weeks or maybe even months when we smell the milkbreath or kiss the chubby cheeks or look at the stringbean that our child has become and wish, just stay here like this a little longer….

    Ginger June 25, 2009 at 12:12 am

    Oh hello, people who live in my head.

    My ten month old daughter rode in a shopping car today, in the front, with her three year old sister beside her (Costco is the only place I go with double seat carts). I was delighted to have her up and seeing the world and all that those things mean for her, but watching her pull at her big sister’s hair and try to take her burrito sample and try the milkshake made me happy and sad at the same time. I guess that range of emotions is just one more example of the excitement of motherhood!
    .-= Ginger´s last blog ..When the crazy comes knocking don’t answer the door =-.

    Cherie: Pregnancy Editor June 25, 2009 at 10:29 am

    I completely understand and agree. My husband laughs at me all of the time. But every time my daughter hits a milestone, starts crawling, gets a tooth, say’s ‘mama’, I feel like my heart is being ripped out. I know that I’m going to blink my eyes and she’ll be 17 and asking for the car keys to go to the mall with her friends. God, being a mom is rough!

    Heather @ Domestic Extraordinaire June 25, 2009 at 10:52 am

    I totally get what you are saying. Some days thinking of Giggles going into high school next year sends me into panic attacks. I have a love/hate relationship with both of my girls getting older. Some days I am so giddy that I can see the “light at the end of the tunnel” Other days, I want to rush back down that tunnel and turn back time and keep them little forever.
    .-= Heather @ Domestic Extraordinaire´s last blog ..Wordless Wednesday: The Flying Edition =-.

    LAVENDULA June 25, 2009 at 10:54 am

    yes those moments are too fleeting here then gone….my baby is 4 and sometimes i wish i could make her small again when she was mine.but then the practical side of me says let her go let her grow up don’t you want to see who she will become…so it is bittersweet…thanks for another beautiful heartfelt post catherine

    Some1s_sista June 25, 2009 at 11:11 am

    My eyes are welling up with tears, I completely understand what you’re saying. My son (#3 of 4)was *supposed* to be our last, and I remember holding him as a baby, my perfect baby boy, and whispering to him, telling him not too grow up too fast, to try to stay little for Mama just a bit longer. Later, when he was diagnosed with Autism and I discovered that it really would take him much longer to grow than other kids, I was wracked with guilt and blamed myself for that silly wish. Completely ridiculous, I know now, but at the time devastaing.

    Then came our little surprise, another daughter, and I find myself feeling the same things! We’re supposed to love those button noses, sweet smiles, and chubby folds so that we will go on and want more and make more. She helped me see that. And she pushes her brother to grow and stay connected, so in a way, she heals us both.

    red pen mama June 25, 2009 at 1:21 pm

    Yes, to you and you and you and all of you. Yes.

    And, is it any wonder I think about [technically] number four, [technically] another boy? I want the babyness, even as every day I look at my long-legged, leaping, flying girls and think, “oh, how wonderful; they are growing up!”


    Ailis June 25, 2009 at 1:56 pm

    I have a little boy who is just 4 months old and already feel this way. Amidst all the dialogue of SAHM vs. WOHM, vs. WAHM and all the other acronyms, I guess I’m a WOHM. And it’s hard. I know that I work for him – so my husband and I can provide a good life for him. But every day that I miss several hours of his growing up – well, it hurts. And I know it would also be hard to be home with him all day as well, as my mom did for all of us. Although I’m sure my baby would be a much better boss than my work boss;) How do any of us do it? I guess seeing that smile or hearing a giggle is what keeps us going.

    Tamara M. June 25, 2009 at 2:31 pm

    I couldn’t have said it better myself. I DAILY have to hold back tears watching my son who is 20 months grow into a boy. I don’t want to hold him back from anything YET I want to keep him with me forever as my little boy. I also have a 5 months old daughter who I cherish more than she will ever know.

    I joke and say now I know why the Duggers keep having babies!!

    Suzanne June 25, 2009 at 2:32 pm

    Sometimes I cry about my baby having to grow up, and I haven’t even HAD said baby yet. (I’m 24 weeks pregnant). How crazy am I??

    Paul Salzman June 26, 2009 at 12:46 am

    My wife asked me to read this and I cried my eyes out. Enjoying every second with my little baby girl as my boy passes 2.5 years old.

    Thank you for this.

    Julie @ The Mom Slant June 26, 2009 at 10:21 am

    I’ve said that Oliver was so much like Tacy as a baby that I’ve had a second chance at her babyhood. Which makes it all the more difficult to see him cross over from being my baby to being my little boy.

    Redneck Mommy June 26, 2009 at 10:23 am

    It hurts my heart a wee bit to watch your babies grow up in pictures with out me there to bear witness to all their advancements.

    I get it completely.

    But I can’t embrace that longing for wanting them to remain sweet little cherubic babies. Because once upon a time I wished that every day for my own child as I watched him grow and advance towards adulthood and away from babyhood.

    And now I have a forever five year old and it haunts me more to wonder who he would have been and what he would liked or disliked or been able to do more than I ever missed his babyhood.

    I miss my babies. But I miss the time stolen from me with the loss of Bug more.

    Jasper better not start talking before I can teach him to pee in the trees tho.

    CatrinkaS June 26, 2009 at 10:37 am

    Beautiful. And you get to keep a tiny bit of him with these archived words – such a gift, to you and to him, to have recorded it all. They DO grow, and they do change, in ways subtle and in ways grand. And you love every version.

    And my third? I cannot quite remember him as a baby, not like the other two. And – in the same breath, I also say – I cling to every little bit of baby still left in him (at 4 1/2.) He makes my heart hurt.

    AmberMc June 26, 2009 at 10:40 am

    “But I want him to grow up and do X, but I want him to get wittle so he will do X again”
    I get so proud and sad when my son does something new.

    Jennifer Wenzel June 26, 2009 at 10:40 am

    What a beautiful post and as someone else said, are you in my head?! I was having this feeling so strongly yesterday. My dauther is 2 1/2. She’s my first and likely my last due to circumstances and I’ve been desperately clinging to the idea that she’s still a baby even though all 30+ pounds of her tells me otherwise. I’m happy she is thriving but it breaks my heart that she will never be little again. She starts preschool next week and I know things will only accelerate from there.

    Only a Mom can understand how heartbreaking all these little losses are and you capture them so beautifully.

    Thank you,

    Amy in OHio June 26, 2009 at 10:43 am

    You make my heart ache with your words sometimes…in a good way of course.

    “a continual experience of loss, a never-ending stream of moments of goodbye”

    brilliance and beauty – off to refresh my memories.

    Dee June 26, 2009 at 10:56 am

    Feeling this very deeply today as my baby boy turns 4. Good thing I still have my 15-month-old daughter to snuggle.

    MeL June 26, 2009 at 11:00 am

    Yes. Yes. Just, yes. And now that my third is getting ready to start crawling into his shiny, bright future and we debate whether our family is done – done? – DONE?! Hw can he be my last when his infancy is already over? I am unprepared for this. So I sit and convince myself that I can have another if I want to, even though I know it’s likely not to be. Because otherwise I would suffocate under the weight of what is already past.

    Julie June 26, 2009 at 11:31 am

    When I find myself frustrated at my clingy little almost 2 year old daughter and her “Up! Mommy, UP! UP! UP!!!” days and the whining and the tossing of food and the “No no, sweetie. Let’s go this way. No. THIS way.” and all the other incessant annoyances of babies and toddlers I have to stop and remind myself…In just a few short years this kid isn’t gonna want me to hold her hand let alone give her 60 million kisses a day.

    For all the reasons you described we need to stop and cherish every day with our babies. It doesn’t last and I’m going to miss my munchkin as she turns into a girl. But I’m also going to try to enjoy every stage as it passes before I sadly say goodbye.

    Thank you!!!

    Elaine June 26, 2009 at 5:54 pm

    This is one case where I say that time is NOT on our side. It’s funny, with my kids, I already miss my second son’s “baby-ness” more than my first’s. I think it’s because my first is, to me anyway, “an old soul” and has always seemed like an adult to me in some ways. He practically came out of me talking.

    I really enjoyed reading this and will now cherish the last few months of my current pregnancy and this next baby’s “baby days” even more…
    .-= Elaine´s last blog ..Photostory Friday – Perfect Timing =-.

    Jen June 26, 2009 at 9:54 pm

    With each of my babies this has become more difficult. And now that I now my baby is my last, I find it harder and harder to admit that she’s growing so fast. And when she wakes up at night, instead of being frustrated I just cuddle her up and take her every breath into me. The loss is palpable. And yet, I know my job as a mother is to nurture them while they grow. Man, sometimes this is a thankless job, this mothering.

    Mitzi June 26, 2009 at 10:33 pm


    just when i had alllllmost forgiven moosetoddler for turning one…

    …he goes and turns 13 mos.

    rotten little shit.
    .-= Mitzi´s last blog ..Fashion Victim =-.

    cakeburnette June 30, 2009 at 9:58 am

    I miss my babies just about daily. I love, love, love the benefits of middle-school age immensely, but oh those sweet, fat bundles of snuggles…! I do NOT miss the toddler/preschool/elementary school ages though. While I loved them with every fiber of my being, those ages were HARD. Or maybe it was just my two. I thought I would hate the middle school/preteen years, but I’ve found that I am actually enjoying it almost as much as the baby ones. I still dislike that age in packs, but my two at home are a delight (most of the time).

    AmandaG July 7, 2009 at 9:44 am

    I am failing at this very thing too.
    .-= AmandaG´s last blog ..I Hope To Never Forget =-.

    Wendy July 12, 2009 at 9:32 am

    Precious, precious, precious. I can totally relate. I keep looking at my youngest and he looks like such a BOY. I’m driving him crazy because I keep hugging him and squeezing and he shrieks, “let me go MOMMY!” as if I’m assaulting him. Okay, maybe a little bit of assault, I guess. LOL. But I can’t help myself!
    .-= Wendy´s last blog ..Messages from the Mothership =-.

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