By Katie Revai LeFevre 
My oldest child, my 3-year-old daughter, just started preschool. Only for two hours a morning twice a week, but nonetheless, she’s started preschool. My second-born is freshly two. And as much as I don’t want to admit it, it’s safe to say we’re no longer in the baby stage . . . at least for now. And that hurts.
Don’t get me wrong. I love watching my tiny humans grow. I love watching them learn new things, come into their own personalities, and experience all sorts of adventures. Even still, I hope I’m not done with the baby stage forever.
You see, there’s something so special about the baby stage. Irreplaceable, truly, as the days drift by swiftly. The exhaustion, the sleep deprivation, the long nights turned morning rising . . . they went by all too quickly.
Whole-face yawns, tiny chuckles, scrunched-up button noses. Tiny booties, burp cloths, baby blankets, and muslin swaddles. Missing pacifiers, the loud hum of the breast pump, a stack of freshly sanitized bottles . . . all gone without warning. I wasn’t ready for it to be gone without warning.
Some might wish away the seemingly endless, learn-as-you-go days of the newborn phase, but if I’m being honest? I wish I could stay in it forever. I’d give anything to go back and stay in it forever. Or at least just a tiny bit longer.
The truth is, I miss those tiny hands wrapped around my finger. While they’ve still got me wrapped around theirs, my babies aren’t so much babies anymore. They’re getting older, wiser, bigger, and more independent. They’re growing up much more quickly than I was prepared for, and we’re just barely out of the baby stage. For now, at least. Because a mama can dream.
Some might eagerly await the days of school drop-off and “see you later!” but I’d rather keep my babies by my side as long as possible where they’re a little bit safer. If I’m being honest, I dread the school-age years. Not because I’m not excited for all they’ll accomplish, but because I’m not ready to loosen my grip and watch my whole world walk away. Not for six to eight excruciating long hours a day.
The truth is, I miss hours in the rocking chair soaking up sleepy snuggles. While we still snuggle all night long, morning is unfailingly met with “I want to get up!” And, just like that, off they run. My babies are finding their wings, their way, their world—outside this cozy, familiar place.
Some might ache for well-deserved time to themselves without little bodies clinging for dear life, but if I’m being honest, I still don’t like leaving my little humans any longer than needed. I don’t want to miss out on any magical moments, any milestones or firsts because as much as they’re surely changing from what they once were, there are still milestones and firsts.
The truth is, so many of the firsts came without any heads up that they would soon be followed by lasts. The last time babywearing in my favorite pink carrier, the last happy squeal over that final teething wafer pack, the last crawl before confident-trying legs first stood on their own and took off running, too suddenly grown.
I can’t say what the future holds for me in terms of whether or not I’ll ever be blessed enough to return to the fleeting, precious, all-too-quickly-gone baby phase, but I know this for sure: I miss it. Deeply, heart-achingly, painstakingly. The truth is, I absolutely loved the baby stage. And I hope I’m not done with it forever.
by Caroline Murray 
by Kaleigh Christensen 
