I've been trying to fall asleep tonight without success. My mind has been racing over the day, the week, the month. Suddenly, I had the urge to go and kiss all my sleeping angels one more time. I did and I feel a little better, but not entirely. While thinking about each of my three precious children, I experienced the powerful and painful realization that kids just grow up way too fast.Adelyn won't always mix up her b's and d's when she reads, making darling stories about "sab doys on the bark deach." Or somehow manage to get her shoes on the wrong feet nearly every time, ever after three years of insisting she do it herself. Or laugh hysterically while I give her butterfly and Eskimo kisses, as if it were the first time. She won't always ask me a never-ending stream of questions about things I've never even thought twice about. Or want to hold and rock her baby sister every minute of the day. She won't always follow me around and want to help me do everything from cooking and cleaning to making a grocery list and scrapbooking. Or skip into preschool with her bouncing curls in piggy tails.
Preston won't always walk around on his tippy-toes or say scissors are "shark" instead of "sharp." He won't always carry his blue afghan (which is filthy because he hides it from me on laundry day) around in one hand and a car in the other. Or make tiger and bear noises or stomp around pretending he's a "rhinosaur" (T. rex is his favorite because it is "scaaaaaary"). Or come sneaking into the family room with food hidden behind his back and say in his sweetest voice, "Hi Mommy." He won't always spill his juice six times a day or insist upon sitting on the counter to eat. Or let me hold him in my arms and sing him Primary songs before bed. He won't always insist I hold his hand while we climb the stairs.
Annalise won't always let me hold her for hours at a time and let me stroke and kiss her soft hair and precious skin. She won't always hold onto and pet my hair while I feed her. Or smile in her sleep. She won't always cry her head off in the car, only to calm down immediately and coo at me the second I get her out of her car seat. Or mark her territory with spit up and ensure that I change my clothes at least four times a day. She won't always give me kisses when she's hungry and rooting for food. And she definitely won't always be so small and delicate.
Motherhood makes me laugh. It definitely makes me cry. I've never before felt so ill prepared and under qualified for something I've wanted so badly to be great at. The days are sometimes painfully long, but the weeks just fly by. Some days the only rewards are more poopy diapers and dirty dishes. Being a mother is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life and I don't think experience necessarily makes it easier. I feel less and less sure of myself everyday. But one thing is for certain. I love my children more than words can express. They bring me joy and and a sense of completeness. They fill my heart with more love and pride than I thought myself capable of having. They say and do the silliest things. . . and they are all growing up way too fast.

















































