As we sat at lunch, I noticed that my girls were the oldest ones in the playplace. Their fruit and nuggets sat untouched as they watched with me, the unruly three-year-olds running wild on red and blue plastic and climbing on foam-wrapped columns. They were short, all of them. Why are all these kids so short?
Behind me, two moms (my age, right?) were talking about diapers and potty training and two- year-old stuff while their younger kids sat in booster seats and dropped fries on the floor.
And then there were my twins, sitting quietly, eating neatly, lost in their grown-up girl thoughts.
My days of meeting other moms at Chick-fil-a in the middle of the day with all our kids? Those days are numbered. Kindergarten looms heavy on the other side of summer. And my mother’s heart rises and falls with pride and fear and wondering.
I have one toddler left. I examine his hands on a daily basis. Are those little toddler dimples still intact? Today, they are there. Close your eyes. Hold on tight. Breathe. And be thankful.
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