That we encourage and facilitate their maturity and independence. It is vitally important that we let our children grow up. Of course, there’s no stopping the march of time - and I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. If you do, please share in the comment section below.) If your youngest has grown up faster than you ever imagined possible, then you can undoubtedly relate to this poem as much as I do. If your baby is still a baby, savor the sweet moments while you can. You will yearn for just one more day of them… Remember there are only so many of them and Until there are no more times, and even then, The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time They will one day run to you with arms raised, You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your Then the next day, they will ask to walk to the gate alone. They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate, One afternoon you will sing “The Wheels on the Bus” They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles,Īnd it will be the last night you ever wake for this. They will hold your hand to cross the road, You will scrub their hair in the bath one nightĪnd from that day on they will want to bathe alone. They will fall asleep on you after a long dayĪnd it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child. There will come a time when you will feed your baby You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,Īnd days will run into days that are exactly the same, You might long for the person you were before,Īnd nothing in particular to worry about. I don’t want to take any of these moments for granted, which is probably why the following poem so resonates with me at this stage of my life: The Last Timeįrom the moment you hold your baby in your arms, Having a baby at 45 means I’ve been able to nurse babies and cuddle toddlers and read with grade schoolers and nurture adolescents and teach teens to drive and attend graduations and converse with adult children and witness marriages and welcome grandchildren - all at the same time! That’s been absolutely amazing as long as it’s lasted.īut now that I’ve (most likely) reached the end of those precious childbearing years, I’m more acutely aware than ever, as my little ones pass milestone after milestone, that some of my favorite aspects of motherhood are being left behind in the transition. One of the best benefits of big-family living is that I haven’t had to give up the joys of one stage to embrace the pleasures of the next. I had my first child at 23, my second 16 months later, and another every couple of years after that for two decades. □ )Ībigail was born the day before I turned 45. It meant leaving the house before Abby woke up and returning after she’d gone to bed. (That was election day for the Texas state primaries, and I worked the polls all day, personally checking in and credentialing one thousand, one hundred fifteen voters in the span of 12 hours. We’ve only missed one day in four months - March 1. Incidentally, Abby told me that one of her New Year’s resolutions was to sit in my lap at least once every day - so it’s been working out beautifully so far. That’s why I made it one of my New Year’s resolutions this year to hold Abigail in my lap at least once every day: I know those days of cuddling will end far sooner than I’m ready to say goodbye to them. She even lost her first tooth yesterday!īut the fact that there are no younger siblings trailing in her wake makes the bittersweetness of each new milestone particularly poignant. She can ride a bike without training wheels. The thing that’s been hardest to accept is the idea that this sweet little baby could be six years old already: Turning 50 didn’t faze me last year, and 51 doesn’t seem like a big deal, either (although I have noticed my bones creaking a lot more now than they did a decade ago). I’ve taken my own aging and my husband’s advancing years in stride. And the following day marks the 30th anniversary of the day we met, which also happens to be “ Lovers Day” - isn’t that fitting? Our family has a lot to celebrate this week: Yesterday was my youngest daughter’s birthday. If your little one is growing up as fast as mine is, you may want some Kleenex before reading the poem at the end of this post. Spoiler alert: I had a baby at 45 and am feeling sentimental.
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