They're growing up too fast....

I never thought I'd say it but it's true. This weekend we moved the twin loft bed out of the teenager's room to make way for a queen bed. I walked in there after she had finished "decorating" and almost cried; my little girl is no longer a little. She's taller than me, she's got boobs and hips (barely), and she's sleeping in a big girl bed. She gave me a big hug, told me I was dumb, and closed the door. In the early hours of the morning, I crept upstairs looking for the cat, and found her snuggling her blanket, lightly snoring with the cat at her feet; I guess he has a new place to sleep now. In some ways, I suppose, she's still my little.

When I woke last morning, I checked my To-Do list and realised that I had to call the baby's daycare to confirm his spot. Really? This after the crushing blow the last night? What do you have against me universe? He starts in three weeks. THREE WEEKS! Where has our time gone? He's not even crawling yet and I'm sending him off into the world of big kids, diseases, and an absentee mother. I know it's better for him and me that I go back to work; he needs me to be mentally sound, but it's so soon. Who's going to zerbert his naked belly and sing him the "goodbye poopoo" song when his diaper is being changed? Who's going to hand feed him squares of cheese and kiwi? Will they read him the ABC Animal book with the same silly voices I use? Do they even HAVE that book? What about the midday kitchen singalong dance parties?

Having been through this once already, I know it's the best thing that can happen for my little guy. He's going to make new friends, learn how to share, try new foods, and learn things that I couldn't possibly teach him. The teenager thrived at daycare when she started almost fourteen years ago. She loved it. We would pull in to the driveway and I would hear her excited little legs start to kick the seat and she'd start jabbering incoherently. She could not wait to get out of her car seat and up to the front door. When the door opened, she'd wriggle out of my arms and immediately head to the play area before her coat and shoes were off. She had not troubles saying goodbye but I sure did. I would slowly walk back to the car, a few tears escaping my eyes, and sit in the driver's seat thinking about her chubby little hands and baby soft head. I eventually got over it realised how great it was to be able to turn up the music loud in the car again and not be covered in slobber or puke for a full seven or eight hours. When I would pick her up, she'd shout "Mama", crawl as fast as she could to my waiting arms and chatter about her day until we got home and settled into our nighttime routine. I realised that those precious few hours before bed were some of the best we'd ever had together. We were both so grateful to see one another again, we'd cling to each other like saran wrap does to a glass bowl.

I am now the proud(?) mother of an independent girl that can cook for herself, do her own laundry, and tie her own shoes but every so often, when the moon is right, my oldest baby will snuggle up on the couch next to me and fall asleep in my lap. I'll soon be able to send her out in to the world to torture future employers and potential spouses but for now she's my 5'4", 105lb baby girl and I'll hold on to her as long as I want or as long as she'll let me.