I'm a middle mom.
The blurry eyed days of babies and toddlers felt like they'd last forever. But they've slipped right through my fingers like flowing water... and are gone.
And still, the days of grown are not yet here.
I'm far enough into motherhood to truly realize and appreciate how fast it goes. And at the same time, not fully through the land of little.
I'm in a space that lingers between babies and bigs.
And it feels hot, and pressing here.
I can feel the spray of a looming waterfall. I know the powerful rush of time's river will soon sweep this season away too. An urgency bubbles up in my heart to not waste another minute of the here and now.
Old photos have me sizing up the time between the chubby babies and wobbly toddlers in the pictures and my backyard running middle people. A pang hits as I recognize the same amount of time exists between those babies and the now, as between the now and the grown.
And I want to dive right into that rushing water. Because I know, I know just how fast it's moving... and I want to grab each moment that threatens to wash past.
Build the fort. Fully stop to soak in their giggles from the other room. Figure out the vacation. Whoop it up and cheer them on from the sidelines. Load everyone into the car just to find a good spot to watch the sunset.
Read the one more book at bedtime. Surprise them with a living room picnic. Put on the bathing suit and play in the pool. Let my pockets lay heavy with pebbles they treasure hunted on a walk. Pick all the summer time berries, and sled down all the winter hills.
Bicker and laugh on family game night. Hold the snuggles a little longer. Make the extra effort to drip a bit more magic into birthdays and holidays. Listen to their stories and look up for the "watch this!" Savor the moments that my kisses and hugs and soft words can still heal boo-boos and aches.
I'm no longer holding babies, and not yet misty-eyed marveling over caps and gowns.
I'll grab all of today.
Because I'm a middle mom.