I hoisted him up just a smidge and he settled in. Into that spot that has become his own. The spot. Just atop the soft padding that has grown over time. Over motherhood. The perfect indentation for his little frame. One leg grazed my midsection. The other foot tapped my back. And his hand grabbed the area of my shirt that covered my beating heart. And we walked. He and I. I laid a kiss on the very tippy top of his forehead thinking, sooner than soon my hip will be bare.
Just like that. They always said it. When the oldest was the smallest. They would say it goes so fast. But in the everyday drudgery, it never feels that way. It never felt fast. And it didn’t even always feel natural. It felt like I was playing a role. For awhile. And then. Then I must have looked away. Because just like that. In a blink, it seemed. He’s in that spot. But he’s not the oldest. Or the middlest. He’s the youngest. And just. like. that. We are here. To our dream. Our hopes. Of being parents to three.
Just like that. In my belly. Beginning in me. Stretching me further than I knew I could go. Three. In our arms. Waking us at all hours. Needing us. Incessantly. Loving us. Unconditionally. Begging us. Daily. Stretching my heart further than I knew it could grow. And my sanity beyond measure, at points.
Just like that. It’s only been 5 years. But those 5 years have been a lifetime. A life. A time. Their life. Their time. Ours together. Proof of grace. And miracles. And now. Now we are headed to a different place. A new phase. A new lifetime it feels. When I really think about it.
Just like that. We are closing that door. That chapter. Today. Which means, that when the littlest man decides he wants to run like the wind, or the middlest stops asking every so often to be hoisted up as well, my hip will be empty. Because our littlest will likely forever be our littlest. Oh. There’s so much about this place where we’ve arrived. With these three little men. That feels just right. That feels like we are whole, in a whole new sense of the word.
But then there’s the twinge. Every so often. The motherly nudge. Just a small small whisper. That I can only hear in the quietest of moments. When I know that it has been through giving up pieces of myself that I’ve felt the most whole. When those pieces are nestled next to me. When one head is rested under my arm. In that spot between my shoulder and my chest. And when I catch a glimpse of their heads from above. When I look down and see the actual joy that has filled them. And when selfishly, I feel that young children make one feel young. It is then, those times, that I feel a brief moment of awareness and emotion that the littlest parts of them are past us now. That we’re past the tiny sqwauks. The freshest scent. The closeness to true miracles. The innocence of learning it all as you go. The smiles from strangers when they see the little legs kicking up and down. Upon your hip. And I think to myself, as I’ve said before, this. I will miss.
But I know that we need to be here. For them. And for us. So here we are. And do feel content in that. At least ninety-nine percent. Our hips, will be bare. And instead, little hands will hold ours. For a stage. And then another stage. And another. And big personalities will fill our lives with a new kind of comfort. I think. I hope. For contentment in the wonder and beautiful challenges that will come with each new stage that will come at us. Just like that.
It’s a ride, for sure. Sometimes wild. Often sweet. And mostly, incredible. And I’ve no doubt that the ages to come will be just as much so. If not more. And I have to think, What a gift. Because we want to experience children. And being parents. And we get to. Just. like. that.