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.
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,
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.
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.