Do you suppose it's possible to live life without blinking? Because it seems that every time I do that, one of my boys gets older. Or bigger. Or develops muscles or facial hair. Or...*sob*... gets a girlfriend.
Just when did I stop being the most important woman in their lives? The woman they loved above all others? The sunshine in their day?
Crap. When did I become so stinkin' melodramatic? Oh, wait. That's been there for some time; just needed some heart -tugging event to bring it back out.
I love that my boys are such good guys that girls can't help but love them. I love that my boys are concerned about their health, and so they work out and do other things to stay in shape. And since I'm a fan of a little bit of scruff along the jawline, I even love that they (well, at least one of them... the other hasn't started the transformation into Wolfman, yet!) have facial hair.
But I miss my babies. I miss them being small enough to toddle around the house, making up cute names for body parts...like knee-pit. I miss the chubby little fingers holding my hand. I miss them crawling into my lap to look seriously into my face and tell me that I'm "bee-yoo-tee-full" and the best mama ever. I even miss fingerprints on the bottom of the refrigerator door.
I just miss my babies.
But not enough to jinx things or tempt fate by being impatient for grandbabies.