At what point in my life did I ever think I’d get sad that I finished my last load of laundry? I honestly have come to a point in my life where washing laundry, swapping it all over, and folding it is one of the most refreshing things I do. I still leave putting it up to the kids and Kyle because I continue to loathe that with everything inside of me. (And this joy in laundry started before I bought my new washing machine [that stole my ski trip] because the world is cruel and of course the washing machine would go out 2 days after Christmas and 2 days before we left for the mountains.)
People always say you’re going to miss this. “This” being life with small children. I am at a point where I can finally glimpse into those moments with a bit of belief of that statement. A few years ago I couldn’t even seem to imagine it. New baby, 2, 4, and 6 year old. So many diapers. So many baths to give. Clothes to put on bodies. Butts to wipe. Fits to listen to. Legos (earrings and spikey buttons) to step on. When all my older kiddos started to be not babies anymore (a year and a half-ish), I always found myself pregnant again. However, at this point in time…I am not pregnant and J is 2 in just a couple of weeks. I feel like this is monumental.
I have this thought that these are the last moments that I will ever hear one of my children call a dog woof or a cat mow (mow like ow not like mow the grass) or his milk wawa. It hurts almost as bad as it hurt the first time I heard Malachi call a banana a banana and not a manna. Those moments are quite saddening.
I mean I desperately do not want to get knocked up again, do not want to get huge pregnant again, do not want to wake up 5 times a night again, do not want to lug around a carseat or extremely heavy 9 month old again, or writhing in the pain of contractions in a vehicle for an hour while trying (again) not to have a baby in a car, but I would take the newborn snuggles and smiles. The rocking chair and the sleepers. Excitement for first times rolling over or taking steps or knowing the color blue. I’d take all of that.
Malachi is writing something that appears to be his name, Everly can read me books, and I have to keep telling Haddi to stop with the dark eye shadow. It didn’t hit before because J has been the baby…and was still a baby, but he came to me this week and said, “uh bup”, walked to his potty chair and pooped.
I’m sure I will have lots of new firsts that will be super fun for years to come, but unless God has some miraculous plans in store, my moments of children under two is slowly slipping away.
So how am I handling this? Well Kyle and I now sit in the boys room at night, play the guitar, and sing until they’re asleep…(I promise we don’t neglect the girls…J just insists on holding a hand through the crib as he falls asleep so that’s where we plant ourselves). I pay attention as I fold the 2t clothes knowing they will likely never be smaller than this, ache a bit inside when I bag up clothes to give away, wonder why in the world my 9 year old has sports bras, insist on brushing my kids hair, and say “UHHHH you are so cute” at least 30 times a day.
That’s how we are currently coping.
On the plus side. I am stoked that I only have to give one child baths and assist with one other, shoes are put on feet (sometimes) by 75% of my children when I say put your shoes on, and this coming summer I should be able to pop a puddle jumper on the baby…toddler…and not have to get in the pool when it’s ice cold.
Okay. Bye friends!
Hey Brooke Fuller 