Nestled in a cramped middle school cafeteria on a sweltering summer afternoon, my little guy climbs into my lap. He wraps his long arms around my neck and whispers, “Love you more, Mom.” His grin melts away any lingering frustration I had.
He wiggles and squirms; sitting still is not in his repertoire. He turns his attention to the performance on stage, pretending to absorb the music. I lean in and softly say “shhh” in his ear.
He takes my hand, fingers intertwining, comparing the size of our hands, and leans his head against my chest. It smells like him—a mix of shampoo and the sweat of a little boy who just finished running wild. I close my eyes, soaking in this moment, acutely aware that it’s a borrowed time, a fleeting phase of his childhood.
I can’t help but reflect on the past. I remember when his older brother sat here, nestled in my lap, breathing in that same sweet scent of youth. Now, he towers over me, and I find myself questioning how so much time has passed.
Just moments ago, my little one was right here, holding my hand, and now he’s navigating the tricky waters of adolescence, discovering who he is—his own passions, quirks, and interests. He’s evolved into his own person, and I hope I’ve equipped him with the tools to thrive in this new world. I wish for him to have self-love, determination, trust in himself, and the ability to laugh at his mistakes. I’ll always be here, a soft landing spot whenever he needs it.
The time we share with our children feels insufficient. Days may seem long, but the years vanish in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, that little, sweaty boy is performing on a stage, and I’m left wondering how we got here.
When he takes the stage one day, pursuing his passion, my lap will be empty. I’ll be in the audience, with no one to watch over, no one to whisper “shhh” to. I’ll be fighting back tears of pride, savoring that bittersweet moment, wishing for time to slow down just a little.
There won’t be anyone else climbing into my lap, tracing the veins on my hand with their tiny fingers. I realize that the gap between now and then is shorter than it appears. The time will come sooner than I expect.
Our children aren’t ours in a traditional sense; they are individuals placed in our care for a brief period. I often say that I’m not in the business of collecting kids; I’m here to nurture them and then let them fly.
What no one tells new parents is that with every day, a child grows a little more independent, needing us less. This is the essence of motherhood—if we’ve done our jobs right, they’ll rely on us less and less.
While it’s rewarding to witness their growth, it has its costs. With every step they take away from us, we consciously choose not to follow. For every ounce of independence they gain, we must let go a little more. Motherhood is a journey filled with bittersweet moments.
So, as I sit with my boy on my lap, I etch this moment into my memory. I hold onto it tightly. You must cherish these times; inhale every precious moment with your little ones, because soon they will be grown and off on their own adventures.
This little boy isn’t truly mine; I merely have the honor of caring for him for a while, and I will do just that.
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Summary:
This heartfelt reflection emphasizes the fleeting nature of time spent with children, highlighting the bittersweet journey of motherhood as kids grow more independent. It reminds us to cherish every moment, recognizing that our children are on loan to us for a short time.