I was visiting church members today. They have well launched children and umpteen grandbabies and what we agreed upon is this:
The lives of our children go so fast. One minute, they are handed to us wrapped in swaddling clothes and we commence to loving passionately and then, after countless breakfasts and shoe ties and recitals and games and wet beds and school conferences, they are grown and gone to the lives we helped ready them to live.
Watching my children unfold into their beauty is probably the greatest miracle I’ve been given to witness. I like them so much. I love discovering that they are funny and wise and interested and I love knowing that I will never be able to know them fully, these persons who resided next to my heart for nine months and who walk with my heart for the rest of their lives.
It goes fast. I watch families now. Cooper and I are those slightly creepy old people who ooh and ahh over the children of strangers. They interact with us, these kind parents, with a wary sort of appreciation. What I want to say to them is savor it savor it savor it savor it.
When your eyes are crossed with fatigue and you are not sure you can stand one more question or interrupted whatever, take a breath and take your babies on your lap and smell their heads and listen to their hearts because before you know it they are launched and gone and you too will be one of those people who tries hard to live in the present whilst mewling for the past.
It goes fast.