He ran at me, ear-to-ear grin, and I stretched out my arms, ready for embrace. As I lifted him up to eye-level my arms shook.
This boy who just weighed 7 pounds, that I carried like a football in one arm, I can now barely lift.
They said don’t blink, and I haven’t. I’ve kept eyes wide, soaking in the moments, cherishing and loving and urging time to slow down.
I didn’t blink, but here we are.
We are nearing the day when I’ll never pick him back up. The day when my arms don’t have the strength to lift him to my eye level for an Eskimo kiss. The day when I set him down for the last time.
We are nearing the day that jumping into mom’s arms is no longer deemed cool. When bear hugs, and holding hands, and kitchen dance parties will become a sweet memory that I tuck in the depths of my heart.
Time marches on, and fighting it is futile. So I’ll hug a little tighter, give a few more piggyback rides, and take as many bear hugs as I can get. I’ll cherish the time that I have in this season instead of counting the seconds until the they are a memory. And I’ll try my hardest to not blink.