But that was the day I also realized I really don't want to.
My little people are my life, and I don't ever want to take one moment with them for granted.
There came a day when it stopped mattering if pigtails were lopsided and if I ended up sharing my bed with three sets of sharp elbows by morning... because it matters more that I am still getting to experience these moments, no matter how imperfect.
Everything feels so shallow, so trivial compared to the depth of missing a life instead of a milestone. With my youngest, now those milestones are miracles no matter what age they may come. With each adorable new outfit he grows into, I am thinking about a lonely stack of unworn clothes tucked away in a closet stacked with memories. That is the new normal.
I decided not to fit in. I would rather wear my raw heart on my sleeve and scare away the shallow-minded, than become a facade playing pretend in real life. I want my children to remember that I cherished their winter-boot-summer-dress style, cheered at whatever age they reached a new goal, and accepted them whether they had a smiling-skidding-through-the-house-in-socks-day, or a hide-under-the-covers-cry-cause-I-miss-my-sister day.
I want them to know it's ok to be real, because it's too hard to pretend... that they don't have to act like everything is ok, when they feel like the world is crumbling.
If I have learned anything from these past few years, it is that no moment should be taken for granted. I hope I can instill in my children to cherish the things that are eternal.
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