I’m not sure when I understood that he would just grow up.
I wouldn’t debate when to introduce solids or record every new tooth in a baby book.
I would blink and he would be running with sticks and requesting a Cars backpack and snack in a baggie not a bowl for his first day of preschool.
Panicking a little, I look back and worry I haven’t collected enough. As he has raced beside or behind the big kids, I have tried to keep up, stash away moments into our bank, catch pennies before they hit the ground.
I find my self bending and scooping and looking up to see him gone again… far ahead, pretending to be the tallest or 4 or the bestest couch jumper in all of the planet.
When I catch something new, a shape carefully crafted or a number past 10, I take it in my hand, collect it greedily, kissing him before he has a chance to be too big again, saving it for my bank.
But sometimes his eyelids droop and he misses a nap or his little knees cry from a fall and I swoop in for my moments. Wrapping him in cheek kisses and tear-stopping reminders, I soak up all I have gathered. Rare coins that catch the light just perfectly, ones I have learned to turn slowly and never hurry to tuck away. Moments saved just for me.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Nestled in a porcelain bank of memories that pass faster than the coins fall, my mothering hands have held them each. Taken the time to appreciate them as they come and place them where they belong, knowing I will treasure them long past today.
I will run ahead or fall behind to keep pace with my youngest, before I blink our bank will be full.
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