"...And babies don't keep"

I was a weird kid.

Like most children, I didn't want to grow up. But I say weird because, while most kids suffer from Peter Pan and the lost boys-type symptoms and an understandable fear of trading fun and games for endless responsibility, I feared growing up for a different reason: I was afraid the next day, month, year would never be able to measure up to how perfect life was in the moment I was living.

That's not to say life was perfect by any means. But, to the little worrier I was, the next day could bring something horrible! A catastrophe! Or it could simply bring change, which, be it little or big, is a hard adjustment for any kid.

I'm reminded of this younger version of myself every time I look at my little ones, but particularly Aleigh and particularly on nights like last night.

The only time I can find to clean house is after the kiddos are asleep, and I was growing rather tired and impatient with Aleigh. She was struggling with bedtime after waking her sister three times in less than an hour, reading countless books (many twice), and asking for a piece of bread as a nighttime snack. After I explained to her as nicely as possible how frustrating it was when she wakes the baby, she told me she was sorry. She just wanted to stay up with me. I told her when she was older there would be plenty of time for staying up late with mama.

This brought on the tears.

"I don't want to get older," she cried. "I like me just like I am. I don't want to grow up."

A montage of memories flashed through my mind as I looked into those massive, tear-filled eyes: I saw her in my arms, a bright red little bundle, just after delivery; then she was grinning and rolling over; and then she was saying her first words and tottering her first steps. I saw the curious infant transition into independent toddler and then into personality-filled little girl, all in a few seconds, and I remember how strong the urge has always been to preserve those moments. To freeze time and hold her tighter and longer, knowing that she will never be three days, three months, three years old again. 

Tears welled in my own eyes as I so badly wanted to tell her that I don't want her to grow up either. I want her to stay my baby, my innocent little girl with wonder-filled eyes who sees the good and beauty in the world and in others, forever. But, instead, I quickly dried my eyes and reminded her of all she'd miss if she stayed three and a half.

"You'd miss blowing out four candles on your birthday cake," I told her. "And you'd miss that Disney cruise Daddy promised. You'd miss feeling sand between your toes and being scared to death by how very big the ocean really is. You'd miss your first day of school and your first sleepover, your first visit from the tooth fairy and your first baseball game."

It wasn't long before she seemed satisfied that growing up wasn't all that bad, after all. And, with a sleep grin, because now it was well past her bedtime, she told me to go finish my "chores" but to hurry back so we could read one more Aleigh story before her eyes got tired.

An hour earlier, I would have probably taken the opportunity, lost in the need-tos and the have-tos, hoping she'd fall asleep on her own. But not after our very grown up conversation. Not after my little bug reminded me that she won't always be so little.

"I think I'll stay here with you and read another book, if that's okay," I told her.

"Okay, Mama." She smiled excitedly, turning quickly to dig through the stack of books we had already read in search of her favorite. Our very grown up conversation had already left her thoughts, her focus on whether or not we should read "Goldilocks and the Three Bears"or "Madeline" for the third time.

But it hadn't left mine. For I love my little one the way she is right now, too, and I know that will not last. 

The dust and dog hair, the dirty dishes and unfolded laundry... my chores will wait for me, I'm certain, but my little bug will never be three and a half again.