As my two year old sat in her chair with an apple in hand and Jake and the Neverland Pirates on the tv, I crept quietly into my little boy's nursery.
I crawled into the room, and stayed next to side of his crib for several minutes. And I stared at this beauty as he slept. Breathing in and out with rosy cheeks and a bit of sweat dampened hair flattened to his head.
And then I started crying.
Because this boy, our fourth child, is IT.
He is the last baby I will watch sleep peacefully in a crib.
His ga-ga-ga's and dada-das are the last that will be babbled in this home.
Today, he began pulling himself up onto the couch (reaching for the xbox controller, of course). That will be the last time I witness my child pull himself up for the first time.
And soon my husband and I will experience our last first steps, and our last first birthday.
Many days, when the day is in full speed ahead mode, I forget about how sweet these days are. And that is the real tragedy of our current culture. We have so many plans, are part of so many activities, own so many things that need cleaned, have long to do lists, and we never SLOW down.
It still feels like last month that my beautiful first princess came silently into the world, but she is nearing the end of her 1st grade year, her hair is longer than mine EVER has been, she is signed up for tumbling and soccer for the summer, she stomps down halls and slams doors like the best of them, she is sweet and caring and brutal and sassy all wrapped into one.
And it seriously seems like last week that we got three frantic calls (we missed the first two) at 4 am on a Sunday, and quickly woke, dressed and loaded 3 small kiddos in the minivan for a two hour ride to meet their baby brother.
Their baby brother. The BABY of our family.
And though I cry today, and will cry probably 77 times 7 more times throughout this parenting journey at our children's "firsts"...and their "lasts," I am sure that this is right. We were meant for these babies, and we are not intended to be parents to another newborn again. So sure, that 24 hours after P was born, I had my tubes tied. THAT sure, folks.
When I am knees deep in laundry, diapers and bottles, I silently wish that the kids were grown, potty trained, and able to raid the food cupboard on their own.
But not today. Today was the last time I witnessed one of my children pulling themselves up.
And I am wishing time would slow down and that my baby would stay a baby forever.
