I went to a doctor’s appointment and came back to big hugs and kisses like I was gone more than the short hour that took me there and back.

“Mommy, I miss you,” my two-year-old said, hugging my legs.

“Aww, I missed you, too.”

Because the truth is I do miss them, too.

I miss them when I meet a friend for dinner.

I find myself only talking about them and wondering what they’re doing in-between conversation and bites of food.

I miss them when they’re at school, and I finally get a minute to breathe.

Because all I can do is breathe them still.

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I’m wondering if they’re OK,

If they made friends,

And if their test went well.

It doesn’t stop.

I miss them when I get into bed and find myself scrolling through my photos, looking at pictures from the day or years ago when I could fit them onto my chest.

And I barely remember my life before they came crashing into my world and became my constant companions,

And I don’t want to.

Because even though I’m knee-deep in the tantrums.

Finding glitter in my belly button,

And cleaning up scrambled eggs off the kitchen floor.

I’m also knee-deep in not-wiped-off kisses,

Wanted hugs,

The toothless grins,

All of it.

And I love it here.

Time goes way too fast.

And one day, I’m rocking a colicky newborn, and the next day that same newborn is starting kindergarten.

And sometimes, I do wish the days to be over so I can get some downtime,

Because I’m human.

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But as they’re getting older, I know we’ll be spending less and less time together.

And the truth is,

Every time we’re apart,

I do miss them, too.

Probably more than they miss me.

And I always will.

Originally published on the author’s Facebook page.