Friday, 17 May 2013

May you always have in your arms those who are in your heart

Days are so fleeting now, each bottle fed and each outfit outgrown reminds me that time is slipping away.

Life is such a whirlwind of things that need doing, saying, cleaning, holding and working that it isn't often I get to just sit and think, and when I do it always feels bitter sweet.

 I look at how they have grown, how strong, how clever and how brilliant they are. But then I look again at how they have grown! How many more days will it be before they walk, and talk and tell us actually, they don't want any help doing this, that they can do it for themselves thank you very much.
I look forward to seeing them become independent, strong and confident people. But a small part of me realises and regrets that with each strong step forward, with each moment of growing pride in them, we close a door behind us.
There is no going back. There is no time to return later for snuggles on the sofa, for tickles on the play mat, for laying on the floor examining a new toy together.
One day they won't sit on the bed amazed by the lampshade, one day they will jump on the bed in their eagerness to see us and then just as quickly, they won't bother coming into our room to see us any more.

It's a difficult thing watching your children grow, wanting to live to see everything they will ever do (yet knowing you won't) to know you need to be strong enough to let them experience life for themselves, while wanting to be right their holding their hand sharing every moment with them.

I watch from a doorway as they discover a new toy they never noticed before. I watch them mesmerised by what it can do, before raising their heads looking for me, catching my eye and grinning while holding it and making noises to show me what they've found. And I know, they won't always do this.

I love the today's, the age they're at, the fun we have. It's as I always imagined it would and so, so much more wonderful and joyful than I could have ever comprehended.

I feel that every moment looking back is wasted, that it means missing out on something happening right now. It's only in the quiet moments of nap time or when feeding them that I permit myself to think back over what was. 
Life before them, life with them in my tummy, as babies, our life with them now as they become children.
And I know, we are not really missing anything that we are living all of it now and we have been there from the very start of their lives and will be there hopefully, until ours end.
 I know I can't be expected to remember every second, of everyday. I hope though I'll recall enough of the good and the bad  to remember before they grow too fast, too soon, but then I think;

They are young yet, we still have time. 

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