For But a Moment

Tonight I rocked my baby to sleep.  

I can't remember the last time I did this.  

She is growing up so much, and we have reached the phase where usually when she toddles out of bed looking for a drink, or a snack, or more entertainment, I reiterate the fact that it is bedtime and promptly escort her back into her room.

But, tonight I was just sitting in the big, red gingham rocker -- the one Jeffrey bought me when Mia was born -- lazily surfing pinterest on my phone while Jeffrey finished some legal project when she turned the corner.  And, since pinterest and rocking are not mutually exclusive activities, I just reached down, gathered my three year old in my arms and lifted her onto my lap.

It took only a few minutes for her to relax into me and fall asleep.  And, then I just held her.  Marveling at how this big girl, this child who only today crossed an important threshold in the maturation all Merchant daughters -- the onset of envy -- when she began sobbing because I have taken Mia and Maggie on "dates", but I have not taken her; this expressive, communicative creature with preferences and likes and a unique sense of humor; this easy-going, but incredibly aware person, could be my baby.  

Where did three and a half years go?  And why is it that time seems to only be going faster, not slower?  

Seizing the moment -- appreciating the stage -- enjoying the chaos -- not wishing away the small and simple moments -- this is the ultimate challenge of motherhood.  At least for me.

So, I am grateful that tonight I had ten minutes to snuggle my little one close, smell her damp hair, and listen to her deep, sleepy breathing.  

Because my days and years of rocking babies are actually over.  And, my time for rocking active toddlers is quickly passing me by too.  And, I have recently realized that my gangly, long-limbed nine year old does not easily fit on my lap any more, nor will she stop chattering away and just contentedly lean into me and rest.  

I shudder to think how quickly my noisy, chaotic, often overly-dramatic, home will empty out and stand still and quiet.  How quickly the present will transform into the past.  And, when it does, I hope to treasure the sweetness of moments shared and realized.  Because in the end, only my memories will remain unchanged over time.