The Littleness is Leaving Our Home

The littleness is leaving our home.

It’s slowly creeping away, almost unnoticed unless I stop to take a hard look at it. That is how change is though; gradual, unsuspecting. Then one day I look over, and there you are, zipping up your own jacket and pouring yourself a glass of milk.

The littleness is leaving our home.

There are no more 1 a.m. cries because of an empty ache in your belly, or a diaper needing changed. There are no more moments, stumbling to the recliner and breathing softly as you lay your head upon my chest. The stillness of our worlds now lies in each of our own beds. Those moments really were fleeting, even when they seemed so far away.

The littleness is leaving our home.

I grab the keys and my wallet. The diaper bag still sitting at the entryway—waiting for a moment of need. There isn’t one though. Still packed away with wipes and diapers that haven’t been used in months. Snacks and sippy cups that can wait, because you’re “big” now, and patience is a bit more understood. Distraction with rattles and soft books is a need that doesn’t need to be met. Your imagination wanders now and takes you somewhere I once had to help you find.

The littleness is leaving our home.

You speak every word perfectly, as if it has always been that way. Syllables that were once hard to pronounce roll off your tongue so smoothly. Where is the “allabance” or “wuve you mommy” hiding? I begin to remember each moment I would beg you to stop crying and use your words. You tell me your every need now, but it wasn’t that long ago when my heart burst with joy because without saying a word, I was the one who knew what you needed. Communication is not a barrier we face my child, we are speaking the same language, almost too well.

The littleness is leaving our home.

Packed away in totes, handed down to friends and family, or shoveled off to a second-hand store. I keep small pieces, because maybe one day the littleness will find its way back in. This mother’s heart is still unsure if I am ready to fully let it leave—but this is not solely my decision.

The littleness is leaving our home.

But I will always hold you, even after it’s left. Your weight will never be too heavy, your arms will never be too big. I will always be here, remembering for the both of us. Waiting if you need me, ready for every moment, cherishing the little ones. Holding on tightly, as I let you go.

The littleness is leaving our home . . . but it will never leave this mother’s heart.

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