Together you wrestle with the space inside the computer chair as it knocks against the desk, balancing long legs and long arms and complete sentences.
Somehow you are taking turns, or one has just given up the lead and you watch movie after movie of your little selves on the screen. (Because you can do that now, you can manage the laptop or iPad or any device set in front of you with an ease it took me a college degree to learn.)
Laughing at spaghetti-ed faces or mimicking your babied voices, you are both enthralled by your tiny Yous.
And I wonder how we got here.
How we went from babies stretched and curved through my belly to toddlers leaning for steps to two little big people, all sure and proud of themselves, dressed in crooked pants and righted shirts, hanging onto each other as quickly as you let go.
Today I was cutting the crust off your peanut butter and jelly and yesterday I was rocking you during a midnight feed.
The in between is fuzzy with wagon rides and afternoon baths and toes deep in sand.
But the sound of it all, the beeping machines of your beginning, the newborn cries turned to babbling sounds flowing to belly giggles, they are as clear as your brand new five year-old voices telling me you are not four anymore.
And you are not, you are moving forward and pulling me with you, ignoring my yellow light to slow down this growing up business.
I don’t want to miss a second. I want to wave back at four and welcome five with open arms that pull you close and breath you and your amazingness in and then stand back and marvel at the fact that you are mine.
All three of you, one forever our baby and two who call for Mommy and remind me just how lucky I am to be the one who gets to answer back.
Happy Birthday to you, Parker, McKenna and Hadley
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