These babies…
Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was hearing your cries for the first time? Holding your tiny frame close as your tears dripped into the soft skin on my neck; as I paced in the wee hours, begging in anxious whispers for sleep to find you?
Wasn’t it just yesterday you took your first steps, laughed that deep guttural, contagious laugh that made your eyes sparkle? Chased bubbles in the grass under our trees, brought me worms from the dirt, dressed up in costumes and hats and danced unhindered all over the house in your diaper? Wasn’t it just yesterday you waved goodbye to me as you climbed aboard that big yellow school bus on your first day?
Wasn’t it just yesterday? The make-believe games in the yard, chasing fireflies, bubble baths, pulling the kitchen stool close to climb up and help me make dinner?
Wasn’t it just yesterday you climbed in my bed in the middle of the night—snuggled in between dad’s body and mine —so sure that it was the only place you would ever feel safe and secure and completely content?
Wasn’t it just?

Wasn’t it?