Those who mean well squawk the refrain—
“The days are long, but the years are short.”

They said I would miss it—
little feet and newborn baby smell
nursing in the wee hours with
a tiny hand clutching mine.

Tying shoes, 
playing tooth fairy, 
soothing scary dreams.

They were fine times, but I do not wish them back.

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I rather enjoy these days of my baby boy
suddenly looking like a young man
in a baseball uniform 
on a chilly Wednesday in April.

And my Amazonian teenage girl 
with size 11 feet
who towers over me by four inches
and wants to be a surgeon.

And my eldest now a mother too—
thirty-one years old but strangely my original baby
and a new mother all at once.

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Their six sticky hands, cuddles,
bedtime stories, and soiled diapers 
have given way to new things.

Harry Potter and Boy Scouts,
prom dresses and driver’s licenses,
marriage and motherhood.

I don’t miss their dependence
and am rather enjoying
becoming less needed, more wanted— 
listening ear and wisdom purveyor.

I am a mother evolving.