I was home alone with the kids one night last week. I was rubbing my hands together at the thought of a tidy house followed by a hot cup of tea, a spot of sewing and an episode of Vampire Diaries (NB: no one likes a judgey-judge).
At 6.30pm Birdie was tucked into bed. At 6.45pm she did a poo. I changed her nappy and tucked her back in. At 7pm she did another one. I changed her nappy again with gritted teeth and kissed her goodnight.
Time to work on number two… err… I mean, the second child. By 8.45pm I had fed the Pixie twice and rocked her to sleep and tucked her in four times.
I felt quite frustrated by this point, glancing at the clock and seeing my night disappear before my eyes.
But being a second time parent, you notice things that you didn’t notice the first time. This time I notice how quickly they are growing up. I look at Birdie in her big girl bed, getting dressed and undressed with minimal help from me, talking in full, elaborate sentences. I remember who she used to be, and it dawned on me.
I don’t have that baby any more. That baby that is all over this blog a few years ago, is gone.
And now it’s happening again. The Pixie as I know and love her now, right now, here, today, is not mine to keep. Another Pixie will replace her, and another and another and another. These moments I have with each of them are so fleeting, as tomorrow I will meet yet another version of my children.
Of course this is what makes the beautiful tapestry of life: comings and goings, old and new.
Sometimes though, I wish the tapestry would slow down just a stitch, just a day, just a minute, so I can linger just a little longer with my soft skinned babies.