Sometimes, just the briefest outpouring of words is worth sharing.

I glimpsed my middle child on the monitor last before I went to bed. He wasn’t making any noise, but I always turn the screen on to take a peek before I fall asleep. I was taken aback by how big he looked, how much of the bed was covered by the body I can still pick up and snuggle so tightly. He still fits in the crook of my arms when he’s still enough to cradle. But he’s getting so big…

My youngest asked me relentlessly to hold him yesterday. I was constantly picking him up, switching him from hip to hip, trying to convince him he was too big to hold for that long. Deep down, I actually loved that he needed me a little more than usual. I know it won’t be long before he’s too busy for me, and too independent to need me. He’s getting so big…

My oldest is smart, brave, and takes care of herself. She can get herself a snack, tie her shoes, and entertain herself for hours if I let her. But last night, she asked me for another song, another snuggle, a longer prayer. I could tell we hadn’t seen each other enough during the day, and she craved a little more attention. I knew she’d be fine if I left her, but I stayed. She’s just getting so big…