EVERYDAY MOMENTS And a warning for those with small children

EVERYDAY MOMENTS

And a warning for those with small children

siblings

Yesterday, the prompt for a photo challenge I do sometimes, was 'everyday moments'. I decided to look back into the past for this one, because it is those everyday moments that are all strung together that make memories, not just the highs and lows. So I found a  photo, a bit of a random one, and posted it up on the site. What I did not anticipate was the depth of emotion the image, and the words that I posted with it would elicit. 

Heartfelt, and lovely, thankful and emotive. It obviously struck a chord amongst many. 

And what was it I wrote about? 

I wrote about how those little fingers and toes of my children, their soft warm bellies, sweet smelling lickable round cheeks, that downy fairyfloss hair... somehow became course and hairy and they smell more like fusty lunchboxes and oversprayed artificial body deodorants than any true sweetness.

my three little ones

 I wrote about how much SPACE the bodies of these people who have invaded my home now occupy, when once they wiggled and squirmed into small spaces, under cushions and tables, under my arms, between my legs, in wet soggy towels, into carseats.

miss rose

I wrote about how quickly time passes, how quickly those everyday boring mundane moments barrel over the top of each other and race away, and before you know it you are somewhere so differently sculpted, that you barely recognise it.  

I wrote about how much I miss them, those little people. 

 my middle one and me

How even though there is great pleasure in having proper verbal exchanges and seeing them grow and mature(!), there are times when my arms ache for their smallness. For those times when tiny micro denticular baby teeth smiled at me, and chubby arms reached out for me. 

When me pulling a funny face and dancing made them laugh and giggle and not cringe. When I changed their nappies for the zillionth time, and nuzzled and blew raspberries on their belly just for the sheer pleasure of it. For that contact, for their smile and chortle.

the youngest one

I ache for those little everyday memoirs I did not realise were so special. 

Well, okay, I lie, I did not really write all this, but I did a little bit. The spirit of it. This was what I wanted to write. But instead, this is what I DID write, and this is the photo I posted with it...  

'the cat, the toddler, the book, the sock and the mat'

I dug deep into the archive for this. My first born child turns 18 next month, man child of 6ft4 or something ridiculous ( he was born prematurely and was like a skinned rabbit...), my middle child is a young woman of almost 15, and my baby just turned 11 and is going into her last year of primary school. 

I have just had my nephew who is just 7, come to stay with us for a few days, and it made me remember when all these BIG people were once little people. How much I miss them.

I miss those little everyday funny things. If I could have one wish, it would be to spend one day with them all again when they were little people or babies, to smell their baby smells, laugh at their funny antics, and just enjoy the ordinary but extraordinary things that at the time often pass you by. 

So here is a photo from the archives, nothing special, but just one of those everyday moments, a dime a dozen, that now feel so precious. My crazy wild Rose, having a deep discussion with our cat Febo. Right outside the kitchen door. One sock on. No idea why. It makes me smile. She is still left of centre, my funny girl. Second choice in comments is of her and her sister playing dressups.

dress-ups

So now I sit here, looking at them, these big people on their devices, in a world of their own, no longer needing me like they did. I wonder and worry what type of world they are going to be a part of. But whatever it is, I always tell them, I always remind them, that they have grown up loved and adored. 

And I leave behind many many photos, printed off ones, real ones, in albums, and also baby diaries, and stuff like a box of baby clothes they once wore, so that one day they can read or look at  them they want to. But they are not just for them, of course. 

miss cranky pants

It is my very own pleasure to sometimes dip into these things, hold them, admire them, and even smell them (like in some bad sad movie scene) and reminisce... and probably get salty wet cheeks from the intense sentimentality that inevitably overtakes me.

And yes, I wish with all my heart I could have just one day with them again, when they were little splodges. But then, I realise in a few years time, I will wish I could have this time NOW with them again... when they all still lived at home, and made me laugh with their ridiculousness and their teenage awkwardness. 

So remember, those of you with little ones, savour them, those moments, because they really do evaporate. They really do just slide way from us. 

Just some words of advice from a fusty old lady, now off to clean up some mess or other, nag and nag and nag some more some rather annoying and revolting teenagers. 

three little splodges