My Children Are Growing Up To Fast

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Last night, I sat up, heart pounding, certain that I had heard my daughter cry. I went and tiptoed into her room, prepared to soothe and settle when I realized that she was sound asleep, curled up in her twin bed, a book next to her. I put the book away, tucked her foot under her blanket, and kissed her cheek.

So I went into my son's room, thinking that in my sleepy state, I misinterpreted the cry. Nope. He was face down in his big boy bed, arms and legs sprawled out, his blanket kicked to the floor. I covered him up, kissed his little head, and went back to bed.

Where I stared at the ceiling for an hour.

My babies are growing up, I thought. This thought ran repeatedly through my head like an annoying ticker on CNN.

The echoes of my babies' cries have not faded from my little house and I already have two big kids.

Instead of cuddling a little baby girl, I have to bit my tongue when my daughter says, "Yes, Mother? What can I do for you, Mother?" when I call her name. I went from Momma to Mother awfully fast. And she's three, for the love of God.

Instead of soothing a colicky baby, I have to sit back and let my son try to dress himself when he grabs he clothes from my hands and says, "No! Mine do!" How is this possible? Didn't I bring him home from the hospital last week?

I love that my kids are growing up. And I hate it too.