Listen y’all….I don’t think I’m ready.
Tonight I carried my sleeping, 7-year-old son upstairs to his room. He had fallen asleep on the couch watching his favorite, “Ninjago” and snuggling with daddy. When I realized it was past his bedtime I decided I should put him in bed. With a grunt I hoisted my big boy up to rest his head on my shoulder as his feet dangled past my knees.
Have we already reached a point where now I’m focused on the “lasts”?
My first thought was of how tall my first born had gotten – in the blink of an eye. His head didn’t fit on my shoulder quite the way it did as an infant. Suddenly, the thought occurred to me, “What if this is the last time I will ever carry him up the stairs?”
As a mom of littles my mind has always been focused on “firsts”. The first belly laugh, the first table food, the first roll, crawl or step. The first time I heard the word “mommy” and the first day of school. Have we already reached a point where now I’m focused on the “lasts”? The last time he asks for a story and a song before bedtime prayers? The last time he’ll let me kiss him before he leaves for school. The last time he’ll hold my hand in the store. The last time he’ll need me to tie up his cleats or pour him a glass of milk. The last time I’ll carry him, sleeping, up the stairs to his bed.
There are still plenty of firsts to look forward to. The first time he’ll stay home alone. The first time he’ll mow the yard by himself. I can’t wait to hear about his first love or be there to cry with him for his first heartbreak. What will it feel like to watch him drive away for the first time by himself? I’m excited to see his first apartment as he heads off to college or military life or something else incredible.
But, despite all of the firsts I have to look forward to, I’m not quite ready to face all of the lasts just yet. How did this come so quickly? Please don’t let this be the last time I carry my sleeping baby upstairs. Mommy’s not ready.