I can’t get over looking back on some of our summer pictures from last year to this year and seeing how much my kiddos have grown. It kind of sneaks up on you and you don’t see it at first.
And then you see it and you cry.
I mean, how does it happen? One year they can’t walk without tripping over their own socks, and the next year they’re running and playing and carrying their own backpacks and “potty-tainned” and you can’t even remember where you put the diapers any more.
As a parent, you suddenly notice things you never thought about before. Like the first time you see your little one running along on his chubby little legs, barely keeping up with the rest of the pack at VBS, and suddenly he leaps mid-stride over a puddle and just. keeps. going…
What?! That kind of coordination is reserved for “big kids” and NFL players–not my baby! How did this happen? When did this happen?
And when did stepping over a puddle become a rite of passage into adulthood? I swear, the way my heart was thumping when I saw that you’d think the kid is bound for Lambeau Field any day now!
Suddenly my Ladybug not only does her own hair, but it turns out so good I don’t have to find a way to sneak in re-doing it without hurting her feelings! I find myself having to shoo her out of the bathroom for the next person in the morning and I could’ve sworn that was something you didn’t have to deal with until high school at least.
Isn’t that written down somewhere in the Big Book of Everything Parenting?! That you don’t have to deal with teenagers until they’re actually teenagers?! That’s part of the contract, right?
I can’t believe I’m getting all sappy about the fact that they can eat popscicles without ruining their shirts anymore, but there it is. The Cowboy can even open his own Captain America fruit snacks now. All. By. Himself. A few more weeks and they won’t even need me around. I’ve become superfluous. (I can’t imagine ever using that word out loud because I wouldn’t know how to pronounce it–but that’s what I love about blogging! I can wow you with my vocabulary without you laughing at me–well, without having to hear you laughing at me anyway!)
If you’re looking for me this weekend I’ll be hiding out in my bathroom crying into a set of out-grown dinosaur jammies that are headed to the Thrift Store on Monday.