Footsteps echo through our home, even from the tiniest foot.
I knew one of my boys was headed down the hall toward my room, probably to ask for breakfast when all I wanted was to sleep in.
But instead of hearing a request for waffles, a small body climbed in next to me, snuggling into my side and pulling the covers around him. He sighed contentedly, closed his eyes, and seemingly fell right back to sleep.
Wedged as I was between him and my husband, I struggled to go back to sleep, but instead stroked his hair and looked at that adorable face.
It’s a rare occurrence around here to have one of our kids climb into our bed. And soon it will be just a memory.
I don’t have really little ones any more. It’s been years since anyone called me “Mommy” instead of the much more grown up “Mom.” There’s so much they can and want to do for themselves. Even though sometimes, I still see them like this:
It makes me sad even as I know that they need to grow up, that some of the sweet moments of childhood have to stop before they cross the line into being weird. I don’t know exactly when that line is drawn, but I do know it would be really weird to come home to find that my husband and his mom were all snuggled up in our bed watching a movie or taking a nap… so eventually, yes, this sort of thing has an expiration date to it.
But I also know that that time is not now. That, though they’re getting older, they’re still just boys.
Sometimes, I can even see the babies they were in a look on their faces. It’s getting harder to see and I’m proud of the young men they’re turning into, but I can still savor the moments when the little boy still wants his mom because I know that soon, those moments will be gone.