Dear Middlechild,

You snuggle down on my lap as we examine a small Lego car that you have built. You will be three years old  next week. One week away.. Three years old. So big. So small. You melt into the curve of my body still and we sit on this big overstuffed chair with the fuzzy wool mat on it. Your little toes and fingers wiggle against my bare arms and legs and your head rests heavy against my collarbone.

Rush of memories.

Your toes always tickled me when you were tiny. Your fingers always explored the texture of my arms as I held you. When you were wrapped up in your old stretchy gauze wrap your bald little head would rest just so on my collarbone and your fingers would tickle up and down my side as you took in the world around us.

You were not keen on strollers until you were quite a bit bigger. You tolerated the swing for short spurts of time. You woke frequently all the way through  18 months with a short spurt of sleeping through the night just to tease us before the rest of all of your teeth came rolling mercilessly in.

I remember begging you in the dark of the night to please sleep.

I remember wishing that your nursing would slow.

I remember holding you as you wailed in those hard to settle moments, and how your rigid little body would slowly curl into the shape of mine and your breathing would slow and you would become limp and quiet in my arms as your still open eyes would place butterfly kisses on my shoulder. Slowly slowing as you drifted into sleep.

I remember those endless moments just a few short years ago, and how suddenly they ended as you rammed your way through rapidfire milestones. You started to walk. You started to run. You started to talk. You slept through the night. You weaned. You moved to your own bed. You  stopped wanting to be rocked at night. You stopped needing us in the room as you fell asleep. You learned to use the toilet instead of diapers.

Snuggled close… I used to hold my breath in the hopes that if I didn’t move you would fall asleep. Now, one week before your third birthday, I hold my breath in the hopes that if I don’t move I can hold you for a minute longer.

So fast. Time passes by so fast. When you were an infant those moments seemed endless.

Next week you will be three. Just three. And already those endless moments of your infancy are past. Now I understand what a gift that slowing of time truly was. It was all the time that I needed to memorize those moments that would pass by far too soon.

Thank you for the memories, little guy. And for this increasingly rare snuggle that brought them all rushing back.

❤ Mama