Baby, Don't Go

I've touched on this topic before and I'm sure I will again. How could I not?

There is this thing lurking...I try to push it out of my mind before it takes hold but I can't always. And when I do think about it, it's so painful and sad: My kids are growing up. Duh, I know. It sounds lame and cheesy. Please don't laugh at me.

My kids are only six and three (actually she's almost four, gulp) so, sure, I have time before I need to face their loss of innocence, but everyone knows how quickly it goes by. So, yeah, I'm holding on for dear life (don't judge me).

Whenever a sweet old lady says to me at the grocery store, "Enjoy them while they're this age--it goes by so fast!" I want to punch her in the face. Way to rub salt in the wound, Grandma.

Every weekday afternoon I cannot wait for 3:20 p.m. because that's when the bus drops off my Kindergartener. I miss him so much when he's at school. We hold hands and talk about his day as we walk the block back to our house. And every single day I cherish the feel of his soft, warm, still-little (but not for long) hand in mine. Because how many more years of hand-holding can I look forward to? Three? Two? And how much longer will his chatter be about sweet stuff like the cool colored pencils they used in art class or which instruments they played in music? When he sings me bits of the songs they sung that day, his adorable falsetto melts my heart and I have to hold back the tears. 

These moments slay me. And they continually surprise me. Before having kids, you can never imagine stuff like this affecting you. But it does.

Or maybe it's my daughter crying in her bed after I've finished singing the lullabies we always sing and left her room. If she doesn't quickly settle down, I go up there and lie with her in bed for a little while. It's like magic how quickly her tears dry up. And it feels wonderful to have that effect on someone.

But how much longer will my mere presence stop the tears? How long before my very existence makes her want to scream instead (or at least roll her eyes). Oh, my little lady is going to be an expert eye-roller, I can tell already.

All this is why I find myself occasionally wanting a third baby. There, I said it. But even if I wasn't too old to easily and safely go about it, I doubt I'd actually begin pleading my case to my husband for baby #3. I've always wanted two kids. One boy, one girl; two kids, two parents: nice symmetry. But still, the urge is there.

That's because, as I stand by and watch my two babies grow and learn and begin to need me less and less, my heart aches. I miss the feeling of having a tiny helpless person rely on me for everything.

There's this song that comes on Pandora's toddler station sometimes: Frances England's "You and Me." It makes me cry. I love it. Google it and listen. Beautiful. The lyrics go:

You and me, reading books in bed,

Your head on my shoulder,

Your eyes on the pages ahead.

How did you grow so big overnight?

How did you get so smart and bright?

Yesterday you were asleep in my arms,

Today you're growing off the charts.

I'm so proud of you."

What the hell am I going to do with myself when my kids are grown?

Damn, someone needs to get a job.