Every now and then I randomly get a bit mush and go on an emotional rollercoaster of all the feels about the kids.
They are growing up so fast, and one day we will wake up and they will be all grown.
I love those little munchkins exactly as they are now. Their relationship is so close and it’s lovely seeing them talk, create things together and enjoy time in each other’s company. They are now only 4 and 6 so still full of wonder and saying the most random of things. I hold onto this moment knowing it too shall pass.
Kids growing up is weird. It’s so exciting each stage and magical in what it brings. You never want that bit to end.
You hold it close to your heart while it lasts.
As time passes you seamlessly navigate new stages that enthral and delight, however, at times you find yourself recalling those times past with both fondness and the ache of loss. All mixed up.
Mourning each stage
At 4 and 6 these feelings with my kids are strong. I adore all that they are now, never taking away from the love I have and feel for all that they have been and all they once were.
I wonder how it is when they are grown up?
Do you miss each part of their life? The baby, the toddler, the school age child and the teen?
My children both still get into our bed in the early hours most nights. There never seems to be a point where they both decide to sleep through at the same time. This drives me to despair as the bigger they get the harder it is to get a wink of sleep with them there. They constantly wriggle and kick and generally sleep spread eagle across the bed until you are contorted to accommodate their bed consumption.
But alongside the annoyance and desire for them to just leave us be, there is the understanding that this moment will also pass.
The crying to be carried home, the wanting to practically smother you all the time with no regard for personal space, even when you’re on the toilet. All of these moments will one day end.
One day I won’t know it, but it will be the last time Roo asks to be carried. It will happen, I will no doubt be annoyed and try to insist she walks. I may even refuse the carry, and then it just won’t happen again. I won’t know it’s the last time. It won’t come with a warning. One day I’ll just realise it’s been a long time since she last asked and it will be done. It stopped for Ravey already.
One day I won’t know it, but the kids will clamber over me, trampling my gut for the last time. They will one day just be sat on the other side of the sofa, far from me and won’t lean in for cuddles.
One day they will push my hand away.
One day I won’t have children that want to be carried, that cry for me at night or that want me to play with them.
I will yearn for that snuggle but it will be refused.
There is no warning, no alert to say, ‘make the most of this time as it’s the last’. I will just notice it has come to an end.
That is the nature of it.
Living in the moment
With children we often think of the difficult parts of the stage they are in and think forward to what’s to come. We are so often blindsighted with firefighting at the moment, trying to get through the day, sometimes annoyed at these inconveniences. It’s not easy to stay in the moment and be completely present. To really relish and delight in it all. To see the encroachment of personal space, the bed invasions and the demands to be carried whilst our arms are full of shopping as a gift. To not be wound up by the calls to play whilst we are busy doing some other really boring task that we feel we should be doing.
As the saying goes, “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone” and this is certainly true here. When your everyday is an endless tyrade of demands and you feel touched out, these things all seem like bugbears that you will happily look forward to your kids moving on from. But I know that one day, I will miss it and I will feel its loss.
All pictures used are either authors own or free to use images from Unsplash