Until I did it 4379679456793638565 times.
Then I couldn't wait for them to learn how to do it themselves.
Funny how my mind thinks, isn't it?
Last weekend, my last baby figured it out.
On a cold day in the middle of winter.
And then she wanted me to take pictures for the "scwapbook".
And watch her.....and watch her again....and again.....and again.
While watching her, I secretly wished that all three kids were babies again so I could push them.
So I could watch the joy on their cute little faces.
Hear the giggles.
So I could pretend to catch their feet and gobble them up.
Or tickle their tummy as they came closer and closer.
I miss those moments.
All 4379679456793638565 of them.
Why does my mind work like that?
Why am I never happy with the moment I am in?
And then I miss those moments when they are over.
Is it because I cant deal with my kids getting older?
Do I detest change?
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