Last week something pretty major happened.
My littlest love crawled.
If you know me at all, or have been following along on our journey at all, then you know I have been having quite the hard time coming to terms with this little guy growing.
If I am being totally honest with you (and I pride myself on doing just that) then I will tell you that I have been getting anxiety over just the thought of this happening for months.
I feel like this is the first step toward him growing up, and as we all know, I am not okay with that.
It's a funny thing, this parenting gig. With the first baby you are excited and everything is new and you are somewhat naïve. You find yourself listening to all the doctors and experts and books. You become overwhelmed with each milestone and push on to the next.
But then, one day you look at that little baby, and he's not so little anymore. The little baby that once barely filled the crib is now overflowing out of his bed. His chubby little arms and legs have now grown and stretched and thinned. You find yourself thinking back to those milestones and wishing you held on a little tighter.
And that's exactly what you do, with the next one. You look down at the new baby filling your arms and you try your hardest to slow down. To linger in those moments a little longer. You find yourself feeling comfortable and relaxed and you know the milestones will come in their own time and there is no need to rush, or worry, or push.
That my friends, is my life.
My oldest love is quickly turning into this little man. I find myself catching glimpses of him and thinking how big and handsome and grown he is. How much more I pushed him with eagerness and excitement. How fast those years went.
And then I have my youngest.
My littlest love.
Oh how I hold on so much tighter.
The love is no different from the rest but its the season I am not ready to let go of.
With all of that said you will be surprised to hear that I handled this milestone much differently than I thought I would.
I saw it coming, he had been ready for weeks, but its as if he knew that I wasn't.
He began to rock, trying to get the coordination just right.
Then he stopped.
I was finally ready.
I squealed, he squealed, and he hasn't stopped moving.
Our children change.
They grow, they learn, they fail, and they succeed.
I am reminded over and over how these babies aren't mine.
My job as a mother is to cheer them on, to comfort them, nurture them, teach them, and lead them.
I should always remember that these babies are a gift. Being a mother is a gift. Witnessing these milestones and changes are to be celebrated not mourned. When I watch them succeed, I am being pat on the back for a job well done.
I will forever miss the baby season, I think most moms do. But I will relish the fact that I get to be there to watch them change, in their own time, which is the perfect time.
Ashley blogs at Crazy Simple Love. Stop by and say hi to her today!