When I found out I was pregnant I thought, “This is my favorite season. It can’t get better than this.”
Then I was on my way to the hospital and thought, “No, this . . . this is my favorite season.”
Then I took him home, and I thought, “Well, now this may be my favorite season.”
Then he turned one month, and two months, and three months, and I thought at each month, “Well, this has to be my favorite season.”
He started smiling and laughing and giggling, and that was my favorite.
Then months four, five, six, and seven, and those were all my favorites.
And as we keep adding another month, another season, I think each time, “No, this is my favorite season” as he learns new skills, his body grows, and he leans in for cuddles.
And the truth is months eight, nine, ten, eleven, and twelve, and then kindergarten and all the years through 18 and then adulthood, and the family he brings in will all make me think, “Nope . . . this is my favorite season.”
But I will sit and take in every season. Every new skill, every giggle, every hug and cuddle. And with those favorite seasons, I’ll take every tear, every scraped knee or broken bone, every heartbreak, every “Mom, you’re so annoying.”
Because every season of this child’s life is my favorite season, there is no part I’d trade or wish to go by faster. They are all equally my favorite. While I miss how small he once was, I love watching him grow and learn just as much.
Mom is my favorite season and thankfully, that will never end.
Originally published on the author’s Facebook page