He’s well over three years old now, and yet when I look at him he is still as much my baby as the day he was born. And he really still is. A baby, that is.
It seems we make kids grow up too quickly. We pound their heads with as much sensory and learning opportunities as possible, and praise their every small step towards maturity and development. Not that I think it’s a bad thing, since I’m about numero uno in that category. But I also try to remind myself just how small, how innocent, how completely dependent on me he is in his great big world. That he is still a baby, and this life so new to him.
Don’t forget in the growing up, to make lots of time to breathe in their little. To cuddle them extra tight and kiss their boo boos a little more dearly. To allow two hours just to get dressed for the day, and another four to put on shoes. To embrace the messy. The crazy. The sticky…
Before we know it life will no longer be so new to them. And then we will wonder why we tried to grow them up so early on.