Right now, you’re peacefully napping in my arms. Your tiny hand is clutching your favorite security blanket, which, surprisingly, is just a lock of my hair. It doesn’t matter if it’s bedtime at 9 PM or an early wake-up at 5 AM; you drift off with that familiar comfort. Your breathing is soft, and it’s almost time for me to lay you down in your crib, carefully stepping over the baby gate that seems to be losing its purpose. I can feel the weight of your toddler frame against me, and I can’t help but notice how my lap is getting smaller for your long legs.
But you’re not really growing up.
Just yesterday, I watched you climb into your car seat all by yourself when we were leaving daycare. My only job was to buckle you in, and soon enough, I suspect you won’t need my help with that either. It’s just a matter of time—though I wish it weren’t.
But you’re not really growing up.
You’ve learned how to pour water from a bottle into your big boy cup. Sure, a drop or two might spill, but mostly, you’ve got the hang of it. I remind you to use both hands, but then I glance over to see you holding your cute cup with just one hand! It takes me by surprise; your little fingers are doing just fine on their own. Your hand has grown stronger, capable of so much more than I’d like to admit.
But you’re not really growing up.
You made it through the day without any potty accidents, just like you have for most of the week. Your pull-up was dry this morning, a sign that you’re adjusting to big boy toilet training. Your collection of underwear has expanded from three pairs to nearly thirty, and soon, pull-ups will be a thing of the past. I couldn’t be happier or prouder.
But you’re not really growing up.
Today, you brought home a goody bag filled with treats from daycare. Your eyes lit up at the sight of Starburst, and you rummaged through until you found them all. I asked if you wanted help unwrapping the first one, but you ignored me. So I watched in awe as your tiny fingers deftly peeled off the wrapper and popped the candy into your mouth, carefree and confident.
But you’re not really growing up.
I know it sounds like I’m in denial, but it’s true—I want you to be my baby forever. I cherish this time when having a picnic with me lights up your day. The moments when you let me kiss your boo-boos or ask me to dance with you, even in public, are priceless.
I know this won’t last forever. I can see the signs in your clothes, which are getting tighter by the day. I just hope your pants don’t turn into high-waters before I can replace them with shorts.
But you’re not really growing up. You’re growing out and away—from 2T clothes to big kid sizes, from baby books to chapter books, from size 9 shoes to whatever comes next. You’re moving beyond tantrums and away from riding in the front of the cart. You’re growing out of my embrace and away from my watchful eye.
As I hold you now, I fight the urge to keep you in my arms all night, knowing I must eventually lay you down. You need your sleep, and I do too.
Rest easy, my sweet one. Remember this: No matter how big you get, you’ll never grow out of my heart or away from my love. You’ll always be a part of my thoughts and my future.
I’ll close my eyes tonight, pretending not to know that by tomorrow, you’ll be a little farther away. I remind myself that even as you grow out and away, I can still guide you from where I stand. Knowing this gives me peace.
But you’re not really growing up.
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