This is me. Right this very second, actually. I'm holding my baby when I should be cleaning my house/preparing a church talk/reading with my big kids. But I just can't do that right now.
My baby is almost one.
Paige's first birthday is less than two weeks away, and I'm not ready. I'm not talking about balloons and presents and cake. I'm talking about starting on cow's milk, and weaning her, and walking, and talking. I'm not ready for her to grow up.
I feel like I've done my best to soak up every ounce of her baby-ness. I haven't rushed her milestones. In fact, I'm so happy that she is still just crawling and not cruising much around furniture. I even love her bald head! It makes her still seem small. And so perfectly perfect.
Dallas has been teasing me because I have to actually fight back tears when I think about her turning one.
It's because I now have a boy that is almost 8. HE still feels like he should be my baby. But he's not. He's choosing to be baptized this fall which is an important life decision- his first really. And I don't know how he even got this age when just yesterday we were sending tiny cars down a track.
The kids grow like weeds no matter how desperately their mother wants to hold tiny hands and wash little faces. They never ask if I'm ready for the next step; they just suddenly make if known that they want you to take off training wheels, or walk to school with a friend, or go to their primary class alone, or that they only want hugs instead of kisses. Mom's don't really get a say. We just feed, water, love, and watch. And then suddenly they don't need us anymore.
So, Paige, I'm going to hold you while you sleep today because tomorrow you'll be going to college and leaving your mama with a broken heart.