Last week, I caught Amy looking wistfully at a photo collage I made for her for her first Mother's Day. Her gaze lingered especially at a picture of her and Jada on our first night together, Jada's tired body slumped atop Amy, as if to say, "I have no idea who you are or where I am, but I'm tired and you seem safe." I asked Amy what she was thinking as she looked at these pics, and she said she wished, if even for only a couple of hours, she could go back in time and snuggle with the baby version of Jada.
Ah, but kids age in one direction only. Maybe one day we will look back and wish for an hour or two of this age's version of our kids. But today is the only day we've been given with them at this particular age; tomorrow they're a day older, and the day after a day older still.
Earlier this month, I caught up with a friend of mine who has teen kids, and he confirmed what I'd already suspected: the very moment your kids are old enough that you don't have to account for them at every moment is the very moment you're going to want to be able to account for them at every moment. And so as future-oriented as I am by nature, and as much as I long for my kids to be out of the house and on their own, it is not hard to remember to cherish every moment with them. After all, by tomorrow, today's version of them will be gone.
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