Time Flies

Does getting weepy while sorting laundry mean I'm hormonal? Or just too emotional?

I was sorting laundry, and realized that Alex's socks aren't tiny bitty baby socks any more. Oh, they're still quite small (obviously) but not in a newborn if-you-drop-them-they're-really-hard-to-find way. And Ethan's socks - well, they are getting hard to tell apart from mine.

It seems like such a short time ago that Ethan was wearing little socks, and the sweet red overalls, and the adorable shirts that snapped at the bottom ... well, you get the picture. I look at him now - reading, writing (however reluctantly!), pretty much self-sufficient, and I wonder ... where did the time go?

And already, Alex is moving past the helpless baby stage. He's scooting around, getting into everything. He's laughing at the noise it makes when you spit toothpaste. (He's such a BOY!) He's babbling and talking so much.

I love each new stage, but it also makes me nostalgic for the previous stages. (And Luke didn't think that my idea of always having a baby in every stage was a good one. Go figure.) I wish I could hold on to a little piece of who they are right now - because they change so quickly.

So I'm trying to savor each day, along with the challenges it brings.

When I have numerous things I'm trying to get done and Ethan wants me to come down to the basement (for the forty-second time) to look at what he's building, I'm trying to bite back the impatience and summon up genuine enthusiasm. He won't always want to share each triumph with me.

When he wants help with something I know he could do on his own, I'm trying to be patient and walk him through the steps he needs to take. Someday soon he won't want any help.

When Alex is up for the third time during the night, I'm trying to treasure those quiet moments when it's just the two of us. Someday he'll sleep through the night. Someday he won't let me rock him, with his soft head tucked under my chin and his sleepy weight so warm in my arms.

When he wants to be right next to me all the time, I try to remember that he won't always prefer my company to all others (or most others, if Ethan or Papa is around!).

I've heard that good parenting is working yourself out of a job. So why doesn't anyone tell you how bittersweet that is?