I’m the mom who jumps on the bed.

Even though it makes a mess of my bed and I might feel it in my back tomorrow.

I take the opportunity to put my adult responsibilities and sensibility aside and play with my daughter.

Because there will be a day where playing with me will lose its magic. Someday there will be a last time we’ll ever jump on the bed.

I know this.

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I’ve learned from experience, and from what others tell me, that our time together will go by entirely too fast.

This time. Where I am her world and she is mine.

In the years ahead, there will be a new time, when my silliness won’t be fun, but embarrassing.

When my presence won’t be needed around the clock.

When merely seeing me won’t make her sweet, sticky face light up with excitement.

I know that time will eventually be upon us, and I’ll deal with it when it comes.
And when it does, I hope I’ll find peace in knowing I’ll have put my all into the phase we’re in now: toddlerhood.

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When feelings are big, and the only way she knows how to seek connection is through play.

So right now, I try to say yes to as many impromptu dance parties as I can.

I find ways to take her up on the “Mommy, I help you?” offers, even if it is going to add chaos to the task at hand.

It doesn’t happen all the time. Sometimes I can’t stop what I’m doing.

But instead of answering an automatic no to every tug on my shirt, I am mindful of how much it means to her when I say yes.

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The look on her face when I pause folding laundry and agree to come to dinner in her kitchen is one that radiates the purest, most innocent joy.

When I help her build a block tower instead of telling her I’m too busy doing the dishes.

It matters to her.

Whenever I can, I’m savoring these moments when being with me is all she wants . . . because time is fleeting.

That’s why when I hear her climb onto my bed, giggling and calling my name, I ignore my instinct to tell her to stop.

I join her. And we jump, together.