My baby is almost 18 months and in the last two weeks she has grown by leaps and bounds in the language department.
How in the world did she suddenly take a ginormous step of epic proportions when I turned by back?!
It's a fourth child thing, I'm sure of it. She's got to be a big girl in order to keep up with the masses, you know. She's got words to speak in order to be heard since gone are the days when someone responds to her every cry.
I smile and respond to every new word: raisins, Jesus, mess, splash, baby, hat, eye, puppy, horse, cow and so many more.
Of course my favorite is Mommy. She graduated herself from Mama to calling me Mommy. She's growing up fast, she is, and she knows it.
Part of me breathes a sigh of relief that we made it this far all in one piece, because there was that day that I cried wondering if we'd all get here at all. The other part of me clings to what has passed and the present that flashes by with eager persistence.
Every few months we do this dance, Time and I. We reminisce and I pull back looking for what has been, but in the end we cling together and sail along. I wish to be more like Mary in my Martha world, but the dear Martha in me sees so much to be done around me that I haven't the time to take in each moment.
One day, I'll learn. I hope so any way. You'd think that by baby four all that I needed to know and learn about parenthood and the passage of time I would have done already.
'And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart.'
I kiss the cheeks of the toddlers and grab one more faint glance. I desperately try to sear the image somewhere in the toddler files of my heart. I then turn to the Tween and the Boy and in a flash recall their toddler days as I struggle to embrace the new motherhood that their ages now call me into being.
I only hope and pray I can figure it out before I'm shoved right into the throws of Teenagers.
Time waits for no one. And neither do gray hairs.
Both of these things I know to be true based on experience.