Just this past week, our youngest has gone potty all by herself. Granted, she’s using a plastic imitation from Target (because she is way too short for the original john), but hey, we are one step closer to no diapers. A dream come true…
Believe me when I say that I am overjoyed to be moving out of the potty-training phase of my life, but as I watch Jenna march from the back room and plant her tiny tuchus on that seat, I realize…
We no longer have babies.
Velvet soft heads, gurgles, and milk-drunk naps are a thing of the past. The wide eyes that stare in wonder at bright lights and ceiling fans now look me straight in the face with fierce independence.
I sit on the edge of the couch and a feel a mixture of pride and nostalgia. My sweatshirt is dirty and my shoulders feel heavy.
Somewhere in the middle of all the days and nights that ran together, this happened. There wasn’t a big celebration or a noticeable culmination that sent out the old and ushered in the new. It just happened.
I attempt to scratch the dried peanut butter off my sleeve, and glance at the high chair that needs to be wiped of the same.
These pangs of time and growth are frequent. Yet, I perceive myself moving, passing milestones, with no time to stop.
I sit up straight, stretch my shoulders, and watch my baby sit on the floor attempting to get one leg back into her floral leggings. She grunts with determination.
Before long, she will effortlessly dress herself.
In a way, I feel gypped by the passing of time, and ignorant for missing moments that seem to hide themselves so well within the mundane.
My youngest gives up on her pants and makes her way down the hall toward the loud playroom. My sweatshirt begs to be changed.
How do days fuse together like one?
Walking over to the sink to occupy my hands, I know the answer. I wish I would take the time to pause a little more. Reflect and be grateful.
My bare-skinned toddler marches down the hall, and I smile. Today truly is a gift…
We should celebrate.
For new teeth, for kids getting dressed all by themselves, for pretty, hand-drawn pictures of birds and butterflies, for sticky fingers, for new phases, for dirty sweatshirts, and pee in the potty…
I shrug the weight off my shoulders and feel a hint of new energy as I pull out the last gluten-free pie crust from the fridge. This celebration won’t be grand. It doesn’t need to be, because gratitude, like quiet milestones, mingles well with the mundane.
What phases are starting or ending for you?
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