I actually finished a book last night (Twenties Girl). It was one of my silly escapism books that I like to indulge in. It usually takes me a really long time to read these ones as they are always in addition to whatever parenting book I am struggling through, along with whatever my book club is reading. And considering I don't read as much as I want, it is exciting for me to finish any book.
The thing that made me nostalgic about finishing Twenties Girl was the fact that my book mark was a breast pad, still in its original wrapper. In fact, I found a whole box of them in the little guy's closet yesterday. I was on a spring organizing/cleaning/sorting mission and kept coming across baby items (itty bitty blankets, spit up cloths, etc.) that I just don't need.
And it got me to thinking; it's already been over 3 months since I weaned the little guy and I am never going to breast feed again. After breastfeeding my 2 kids for a combined 27 months, it has already become foreign. When I saw a few women nursing their babies at the park yesterday, I was touched by how tender, yet distant it seemed to me.
I get sentimental when I think about moving on, as much as I look forward to it. I admit I am attached to all the baby stuff and am sad when I move outgrown outfits and random items up to the attic for storage.
My kids are growing up so quickly and I am only now beginning to understand what people mean when the say it all happens so fast. As much as I can still see them as the babes they once were, they really are both their own little people now, and I am having to navigate these relationships with a respect that didn't used to seem necessary (I don't mean that I didn't used to respect them, only that they really are "people" now).
I am so happy with our family, and so excited to watch my babies grow (in fact, the babe turned 3.5 yesterday!), but they will always be my little ones, no matter how big they get.
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