Slipping Through My Fingers...
I don't have a more recent photo, but the one in this icon is from last June.
I've noticed for several months how Big and Long and Tall and Grown-up Elf is getting. She's all limbs and sharp angles. When we pick her up and she holds us around the neck, her dangling toes are perilously close to the floor.
Just in the past two months, Ben has reached this point too.
They're both heavier, more solid, longer. They are not small enough and squishy enough to pull them up onto our laps and snuggle them. They can still fit on our laps, but they stick out every which way. Even balled up for a cannonball into a pool, I can no longer spoon around them and feel like they're my Little Ones.
I truly enjoyed and appreciated and valued the snuggle times, and we still snuggle, but we need more space. They aren't my babies anymore, or even my snuggly toddlers. Elf can make mac & cheese with only help on boiling water. She can make scrambled eggs. She can load the dishwasher and wash dishes by hand. They can both make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, can both unload the dishwasher and put away dishes, can both make beds and tidy up. They are Kids, all SELF.
They are both still snugglers and like to climb into bed with us and cuddle. Not long and we're not all going to fit in the bed. But I still cherish those moments, even though everyone now gets kicked or elbowed or bonked at least once during them.
And, proud as I am of them and of how brilliantly they're growing, I miss that snuggling, that closeness, that sense that I could protect and shield them. It's normal, and it's natural, and it's amazing, but it is a tiny loss of a part I've much loved and glad to have had.
I've noticed for several months how Big and Long and Tall and Grown-up Elf is getting. She's all limbs and sharp angles. When we pick her up and she holds us around the neck, her dangling toes are perilously close to the floor.
Just in the past two months, Ben has reached this point too.
They're both heavier, more solid, longer. They are not small enough and squishy enough to pull them up onto our laps and snuggle them. They can still fit on our laps, but they stick out every which way. Even balled up for a cannonball into a pool, I can no longer spoon around them and feel like they're my Little Ones.
I truly enjoyed and appreciated and valued the snuggle times, and we still snuggle, but we need more space. They aren't my babies anymore, or even my snuggly toddlers. Elf can make mac & cheese with only help on boiling water. She can make scrambled eggs. She can load the dishwasher and wash dishes by hand. They can both make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, can both unload the dishwasher and put away dishes, can both make beds and tidy up. They are Kids, all SELF.
They are both still snugglers and like to climb into bed with us and cuddle. Not long and we're not all going to fit in the bed. But I still cherish those moments, even though everyone now gets kicked or elbowed or bonked at least once during them.
And, proud as I am of them and of how brilliantly they're growing, I miss that snuggling, that closeness, that sense that I could protect and shield them. It's normal, and it's natural, and it's amazing, but it is a tiny loss of a part I've much loved and glad to have had.