I enter the bathroom every morning yawning the grogginess of five or six hours of sleep away - ready to start another day. Ready to change diapers, tackle the laundry, get Sam to preschool, run errands, host play dates, wrestle Emma into her snow boots...ready to read the same story 15 times, answer questions like "What's Superman's REAL name?!" and "Did God make Doc Ock?", prepare three meals and multiple snacks that my children will without a doubt scoff at, ready to kiss boo boo's and break up fights, ready to put one more day of being Super Mommy under my belt.
I brush through my unruly, wild red hair and try not to notice the new white strands that seem to multiply daily around my part. I brush my teeth (yes, I'm one of THOSE people who brush their teeth before they eat or drink anything!) and wash my face, lingering over the lines around my mouth and on my forehead. I desperately rub my anti-aging moisturizer over my face in an attempt to turn the clock back several years. If only I could rub these dark circles away. I vow "tonight I am going to go to bed earlier and catch up on some sleep!" Never happens - with two wild kids when else am I going to read or catch up on my shows?!
I crack my neck, rub my lower back, stretch a few times, notice the pain in my knee...stare into the mirror for just a moment or two and think to myself, "I don't remember getting old!"
I make my way to the kids rooms, preparing myself for all the mommy duties that wait on the other side of their doors. I yawn one more time and open Sam's door. This morning I found him sitting on his futon reading through his super hero books. He had his clothes picked out and announced, "It's time to get ready for school!" He trotted off to the bathroom, took care of his own business, and proceeded to get himself dressed. After a big hug he informed me he was going to play downstairs while I got Emma up and made breakfast. I watched my little Super-Sam take off down the hall and disappear down the stairs, fighting invisible bad guys.
I opened Emma's door to find a very happy little stinker, playing with her stuffed animals (they were all lined up according to size, I'm so proud!) "HI MOMMY!" "I POOPED!" Ten minutes later we had survived a poop change and an outfit selection - girls! When did my sweet little baby girl develop such a strong opinion on what she wears? Not looking forward to her preteen years. She too squeezed my neck and took off down the stairs to play - without me.
It hit me with a wave of crazy mommy emotion that my little babies are getting older too. Every day they get a little bigger, a little smarter, a little more independent and self sufficient. Every day they get funnier, sassier (much to my dismay), more opinionated, and oh so handsome & beautiful. Every day they need me just a little less. Every day they get more creative with playing on their own, laugh more at their selected shows, talk more like kids and less like babies. I stare at them as they play, while they eat, when they sleep, and think, "I don't remember them getting older!"
I wish I could turn back the clock on my aging. Fill in my brow and laugh lines. Erase my white hairs. Pull the aching soreness out of my lower back and be ready to rock and roll after a few hours of sleep. But I would give anything to freeze the clock on my babies. To keep them little and sweet and so wonderfully innocent. To hear their infant cries again. To rock them to sleep. To squeeze their baby cheeks and dress them in ridiculously cute outfits.
I'm so proud of the little people they have become. I cherish the snuggles and giggles, the cries and boo boo's. I breathe them in when we sit down to read stories. It's a hard road to walk - to watch your children grow and pray for the people they will become, but to wish so much that they would stay little.
Tonight, when you are utterly exhausted from being Super Mommy, I want you to do two things: Go into your babies rooms and stare at their precious sleeping faces - they will be a little more grown up tomorrow AND get some Vaseline gloves to treat your dry winter hands - let's face it, old gals have dry, cracked hands!
I don't remember getting older, when did they?!
