For the love of God, where has the time gone?
Let me admit something to you: I am not a baby person. I loved my kids when they were babies, I did. I loved to hold them and smell them and just be with them. I loved their sweet little voices and chubby little hands and their fine hair. I loved reading them stories and knowing that I was the one who could comfort them. I loved the way they looked at me.
But, honest to God, I love these years more. They can catch a ball and help me make dinner and talk about Harry Potter. We can go on vacation and I don't have to stake out the diaper-changing stations, or fill my purse full of graham crackers to prevent temper tantrums. They actually go to sleep in hotel rooms.
I can converse with them. And they converse back, using real words and ideas. You are thinking, "Shannon, they talk back now." Sure, they do, on the rare occasion. But I can actually use the voice of reason with them (assuming I haven't gone all psycho-mommy.)
But, here is the killer. As much as I love these years, (and I do, I honestly do) I am fighting off the deep depression that goes hand in hand with the realization of "Holy hell, my kids are in 6th and 4th grades this year." And then I start to miss the snuggles, the baby-bath smell and the sweet little voices.
I kind of miss the 517 times a day that KJ asked me "But, why?" I am sad that Keebles is actually capable of sleeping without Yellowie, her security blanket.
So, please, can I freeze time? I know that's not really possible, but can I at least put on the brakes? I want to savor these years between complete neediness and total independence.
Pretty please? I want to slow life down and experience these last 6-8 years that I have with my babies. Even if they aren't really babies anymore.