I often look at my boys in admiration. I stare a little too long, watch every move, every bat of their eyes, every silly smile, scratch, toot, dance and even, fall. I touch their hair; sniff their skin. I breath them in and I mourn.
I mourn the loss of their smallness every minute of every passing day. I celebrate each milestone with pride and joy, and still I mourn their sweet smallness. I mourn their complete trust in me. I mourn their need to be near me. I mourn those tiny sweet pea toes, which are being replaced by still sweet, bigger, slight stinky boy toes that I still inhale and adore.
As a mother, I exist in a space between sheer joy for their growth and successes, and the sadness that they will never be this small again, that they will never need me the way they do now. No matter how heavy their love can be, I still want and need it.
"The days are long, but the years are short" always comes to mind. The longest nights, have come and gone, but the years seem to have passed in the blink of an eye. So, I mourn.