A Familiar Loss of a Different Kind

On Monday, morning, October 9, 2023, my dear friend, Buffy Sue, passed away unexpectedly in her home.

I have lost friends and family before, numerous times.  This loss, however familiar in some ways, is unique and different compared to those in the past.  This feels like new territory in some respects.

During my adolescent years, the internet was just starting to really become common and accessible.  In my tenth grade year, I joined a website for teens with journals, games, polls, messaging, and so forth.  It started out as somewhat of a social experiment in my mind, as well as an exciting way to explore new territory with people my age, all over the globe.  I had a MySpace page, where I found friends and new music, taught myself some basic HTML and photo editing skills, downloaded ICQ and AIM messengers, and continued to make connections.  It didn’t take long before I was fully immersed in the website I first mentioned, making friendships and relationships that many adults at the time would tell you were not and could not ever be real, true, lasting friendships.  It seemed absurd that you could have a relationship with someone you had never met. I grew up in a tiny town with amazing “real-life” friendships, as I would have referred to them at the time.  These online friends were no substitute, they were an addition to my tribe.

That website was the beginning of my online journaling (now called blogging) endeavor, and I wrote almost every day.  At one point, I had journaled every day for one or two years.  I honestly cannot even recall. I had friends that read daily, commented daily, and I reciprocated in their journals.  As we got older, we started chatting, emailing, writing letters, sending text messages, and sometimes even meeting in person.  While it may seem shocking to believe, I have made some of my most trusted friends on that website, and they know me, the real me, and love me in return, and we have had these relationships for twenty-some years.  They’ve been by my side, figuratively speaking, through high school, high school graduation, boyfriend breakups, college, college graduation, engagement, wedding, marriage, infertility, deaths in my family, births of children, betrayal from my husband, divorce, single-parenting, covid, overcoming, and so many more events in my last twenty years.

In 2012, after giving birth to one son in 2010, then losing a pregnancy in 2011, I became pregnant again and was due with our next child in August.  At the time, I was working an in-home daycare with one of my best friends, with a husband who worked long hours out of town and was away a lot.  I joined a pregnancy app on my phone, which came with message boards.  Those message boards were a bit rudimentary, and it wasn’t long after that an August 2012 Momma Facebook group was formed.  So many women around the globe joined that group, and we shared so much of our lives together.  That group still exists, and while it’s not as frequently utilized, we mommas are there and we still love each other.  Some have been fortunate enough to meet in person, and many of us developed deeper side friendships with mommas we really connected with, and have kept in touch in multiple other ways.  When we had our babies, we were there.  When they turned one, we were there.  When we have had triumphs and joys, we were there.  When lives turned unexpectedly upside down, we were there.  It is a core group that you know is going to be there even if it’s been a year and you need to rant about something related to motherhood, you need prayers or advice for any other topic, or you’re in a crisis and you don’t know what to do.  It’s been such a joy watching our children grow up together, even if we are not physically together.

This momma group is where I met Buffy Sue.  

Buffy Sue was absolutely my closest friend in that group.  She brought me such joy.  Her laughter was contagious and when she would get laughing, I may not even understand really what she was laughing about (because sometimes she would be laughing so hard her words didn’t sound comprehensible) but it would get me laughing, too.  She gave great advice when I needed it.  She said stupid funny things when I needed comic relief.  She sent me pictures and videos of herself and her daughters frequently.  She told me all about her coffee shop, when things were going well, when things would unexpectedly break down and cause messes, when things were going splendidly, all of it.  I always told her I wished she could deliver MY coffee, but joked that it would probably taste a little funky by the time it arrived, so she would just have to drink what I would order in my honor.  She blessed my children and I in big  and little ways, from surprises in the mail, to silly letters, and much, much more.  She helped me see straight through tears of confusion and anger when my marriage was falling apart.  She reminded me how strong I was, and how I was never really going crazy even if I thought it might be the case.  She encouraged and supported all my creative endeavors.  She was a champion for everyone she loved and so many other she barely even knew.  She would do anything she could to better someone’s life- not just mine.  I tried my very best to do the same for her in her life, and I can only pray that I made an as much an impact on her as she did on me.  As I’ve been reading tributes to her online, I am blown away, but also not really surprised, by the impact she made on her community, but even further, around the world.

When I read last night that she was gone, it felt like I was being punched in the chest.  I turned off my phone screen multiple times, feeling like I was just imagining what the screen said.  When I realized it was true, I wept quietly in my room, away from my sons.

You see, they didn’t really know Buffy.  They knew of her, because I would show them videos or photos sometimes when they’d ask what was so funny, but they never really met her.

That’s when I realized, in a way, I had never really met her, either.  Well, not in person, anyway.

That thought struck me in the strangest way, as I then wrestled with my own thoughts.  That lasted much of the night, and I cried myself to sleep, still feeling sort of strange to be feeling as sad as I was.

Today is my day off from work, so after I took my two littles to elementary school, my oldest and I carried out our day-off tradition.  I drive him across town to middle school, but on our way, we stop at a coffee shop of his choosing, and we play “coffee roulette” where I let him order a drink for me (so long as it is not straight up black coffee or espresso) and he chooses a bakery item for himself.  When we were picking up our items from the drive through window, I started to feel tears welling up in my eyes.  As we pulled away, I blurted out to him, “one of my online momma friends died this week.”

He was stunned.  He stared at me for a moment before he said “that is so tragic and I am really sorry, mom.”

I told him how I didn't want to burden them with my loss, and how I nearly broke down this morning when I realized if I sent her the goofy Snapchat photo I was sending some friends of our cat trying to get involved in non-cat-related activities she wouldn't ever open it anyway.

I began to tell him about Buffy and all of her great qualities.  I told him how she was really “Steve the Elf” a couple years ago who sent us tickets to For King and Country’s Christmas concert locally.  He laughed about it a while and then told me how she sounded so cool and it made all the sense in the world that we were friends.

“We really were friends,” I said, trailing off a little.  

I finally began talking aloud about all the conflicting thoughts I had been feeling the night prior- how could I possibly be so sad when I had never even been in the same room as her?  How could I be devastated knowing I wouldn’t get to hug her in person when we still hadn’t had that chance?  How could she possibly have left such a lasting impression on me when she was so far away?  

He and I then talked about how it absolutely makes sense that I was so sad.  She was real.  She was a real friend. She knew me better than many people.  Just because we had never been in the same place geographically, she was with me so often, in a few second spurts, day in and day out.  We shared each other’s triumphs.  We shared sorrow when her dad died.  We laughed when we would say or do stupid things.  We shared music.  We shared a friendship.

He and I then had a great talk about how you really can create life-long, true, deep relationships with people you have never met, but how you also have to be careful in letting people online into your life sometimes, especially with sensitive information.

I explained how I have two groups of real-life-online-friends, those who are still in my life from high school, and those who came into my life as a momma, and are still in my life today.  He knows I have amazing friendships with some of these.  He began asking me questions about many of them, and I got to tell him stories about how one friend and I would write a fiction blog about a world where we were actually together, and another friend and I would fill up a notebook with multiple letters before sending it off, and how I met one in Nashville, and stayed with one in Brooklyn, and met up with two in Omaha, and one came to Sioux Falls.

He told me I was a really great friend.  He wiped away my tears and reminded me he loved me.

As he got out of the car and I drove away, the song “Banks” by Needtobreathe came on the car stereo, and it brought me right back to Buffy, and the type of life she lived and the way she loved fiercely.

I was watching the sun rise above the trees, alone again with my thoughts and my sorrow.  I had finished my coffee, and remembered that my favorite local coffee drink, the Honey Bee Latte, was half price at that time in the morning, and I had enough pocket change in my cup holder to stop and grab one. I wasn’t quite ready to go home and sit with my thoughts yet, because my emotions were still swirling.  So, I stopped and ordered my favorite, one I had told Buffy about long ago, and decided to go to the outdoor campus here in town and go for a walk.  I dove deeper into my thoughts and emotion and decided that I needed to write.

I always find that I need to write.

This time, it was a little different.

I realized that I could search all over for a physical place where I felt my friend and I were together, but when it came down to it, the living room of our friendship was really the internet.  It was in writing, mostly.  I knew I needed to come sit on the virtual couch of our friendship and feel the emptiness in that room, and embrace the love I had for her in this life, through the screen in front of me.   I walked a couple of miles until my coffee was gone, with the gentle wind blowing through the trees, thinking about the songs she might send my way on a day like this, what joke she would make, and if her Honey Bee Latte would be even tastier.  I believe it would have been, no contest.  

So here I am, writing my heart out, wondering what she would say if she saw all of these words before us.  She would downplay her own significance for a while, but tell me how much she loved me, and turn it right around and build me up, because that’s what kind of champion she was.

This sorrow I feel is like that of any other friend or family I’ve lost, but different in that unfamiliar ache of the in-person hug I won’t get on this side of heaven.  As I sit through the grief, I realize this won’t be the first time on this path, because I am so blessed someday, potentially (unless I go, first) lose many more I love so deeply in this way.

My sorrow must only be a fraction of the sorrow felt by her mother, her siblings, her husband, her beautiful daughters, and her countless friends.  I’ll be thinking of them often and praying for their piece as they live out the immeasurable grief I’m sure they must be feeling.  I’ll continue to read the tributes to her online, and count myself so fortunate to have a treasure like her in my lifetime.  

I know you’re singing with the angels, Buffy, love.

Until someday,

-Me

From Seven to Eight

 Miss Norah, my darling girl,

This morning, I woke you and your brothers as always, with my "morning love you song." Part of me believes you intentionally stay in bed until my musical alarm greets you for the day. This morning, I added a line about your last day being seven years old. You laughed and got out of bed quickly to hug me with excitement in your eyes. You've had a countdown to your birthday for weeks, multiple times a day asking the Alexa (that you renamed Ziggy and confused us all) how many days until your birthday, because she included hours as well. 

Tomorrow morning, you will wake up eight years old. Every year, every birthday, I wake you all up singing happy birthday instead of the morning song. This year is a little different.

This particular birthday will be unlike any other so far, as you have emotionally thought through over the course of the past few weeks. This birthday, you will wake up in a room that is not your own, away from your brothers and I, for the very first time ever. We have talked about it together, and you've shared your excitement but also your sadness knowing it will be different. As you left this afternoon to head to the hotel with your bonus sister and bonus mom, as your sister is 364 days older than you, you were 99% excited and 1% hesitant. I considered this a success in tapping into the joy and living in the moment, although I was a bit sad to see you go. I reminded you that you probably will barely remember I'm not around in the morning, but you promised you would miss me. We are quite a pair, aren't we?

"I love you." I will say.

"I love you most." You reply. 

"Not possible!" I respond. 

"Yes it is!" You always exclaim. We argue this little conversation daily, and seeing you go today felt the same. 

Miss Norah, it's been another amazing year with you. You've become fierce, independent but simultaneously still needy, witty, physically stronger, mathematically a wiz, kinder, ornerier, gentler, more compassionate, intensely passionate, and more beautiful than ever. One of my great joys is hearing stories of your beautiful heart shining for others when I am not around. I love knowing that you carry yourself in that way even when I'm not watching, not knowing that I hear about it as it happens. You love others just because God calls you to, and you do it well. 

Growing up has meant your emotions have deepened, which has been quite a rollercoaster. You can go from elated to devastated in seconds, intensely sobbing to hysterically laughing, round and round again multiple times a day. I know you get frustrated with me sometimes, not always knowing what to say, or do, or how to react, but I am appreciative of your grace and mercy, as you know I love you, no matter what the moment might feel like. I know we will continue to navigate these rides together and it will make our relationship so much stronger. 

My little Brownie Bite, now that you're more mature, I feel like our mother daughter relationship is starting to also really root itself in friendship. I love our adventures in crafting, playing, grocery shopping, walking, singing, laughing, and snuggling. I love that you share a similar sense of humor to me and I can make you laugh like no one else in the world. I love that you get me, too, and can decode what it is I'm trying to say even when I don't have legitimate words coming out of my mouth. 

I love how much you love your brothers. You know them well and can speak their love languages easily. It's so much fun listening to you all converse and interact. The fighting .. well... I could do without that, but I know it comes with the sibling relationship and sometimes I know I just have to bite my tongue and hide in my room a few minutes while you all sort things out. You're all getting pretty good at it, too!  

I love watching you continue to flourish in your role as a cousin, and also as a friend to both your existing friends and the new little loves in your life. I see so many people enamored by you!

I pray that in this next year, your ambitions and desires continue to grow. I pray that your heart continues to shine for those around you. I pray that you choose to do the right things, the good things, the hard things, the loving things, even if no one is watching you. I pray you dance in the sunshine and the rain, and that you never let anyone dampen the song in your soul. I pray you see yourself through my eyes and through Jesus eyes, and not through the negative perceptions you think others may see. I pray you know how to stand up when the world wants you to fall, and that you know the strength inside your soul. I pray you have endless joy and countless fits of laughter, and you know there are always arms around to hug you when you need. 

I am so thankful for you, baby girl. Thank you for bringing so much color and sparkle to our lives. 

Happy 8th birthday, Norah. I cannot wait to see your 8 year-old smile tomorrow. 

Love you most,

Momma

Super Powers

It's been an exhausting couple of days, for various reasons, both good and not as good.

Last night, we arrived home right at bedtime, and the kids willingly went into their room to prepare for rest.  They laid there quietly and happily for a few minutes while I got stuff ready before going in to do bedtime prayer and gratitude, give hugs and kisses, and wish them goodnight.

Then, as is common lately, one by one, they all had reasons to get up, or call for me in the other room.  I try diligently to always have a positive attitude or at very least a kind voice when I re-enter, but it's a struggle sometimes.  Especially on nights like last night where it was already nine o'clock and I had a list of various duties to tend to before excusing myself to bed.

Eventually, they coaxed me into laying among all three of them on their bedroom floor, one laying across my arm while both arms were splayed to my sides playing with the two youngest's hair.  The fish tank light was off, the van on for white noise, and I laid there struggling to stay awake myself, my to-do list playing repeatedly in my mind.  That's when the thoughts started rolling in as well.

"This is so hard."

"This is so exhausting."

"There aren't enough hours in the day."

"There's not enough of this Momma to go around."

"I don't know how I'm going to do keep doing this."

"Its going to take some sort of super human strength or some kind of super powers to keep this up forever."

Eventually, they all drifted off to sleep.  I did a half-baked job on my nightly duties and then flopped myself into my own bed.   Then, I realized I had a few more things to do, rolled on out, finished up, and returned.  Then I realized the door wasn't locked.  So, I got up again, locked the door, and then fed the cats, got some water, and went back to bed again.  I think I fell asleep around 11:20.

This morning, I woke, tired as usual, and forgot to make my coffee before we all marched out the door at 7:40.  The children were all in fairly good moods for their shortage of sleep last night, and we were on our way.

As I sat in the waiting area at one of their appointments, the thoughts of last night replayed in my mind.

But today, they were reframed with a feeling of empowerment.

Parenting is hard.  It's crazy hard.  It's hard when there's two parents.  It's harder when those parents are separated.  It's even harder when you're doing it alone.  At least, in my experience that's true, having done all three versions of parenting in the last 7 years.

Right now, I'm back to being a single parent.  I mean single parent, as in not sharing the children with their other parent. I know that to some, co-parenting or shared-parenting is considered or felt to be single parenting.  Again, in my experience, they're wildly different.  So, as I said, I'm flying solo.  I wish I wasn't, but I am, so I pull myself up by my bootstraps (oh wait, my boots are all strapless...) and I carry on day in and day out.

Even when it feels like it's too much.  Even when I'm too tired.  Even when my nerves are shot and my brain is fried, and I go to work with my pants on backwards (yes, that's happened, more than once actually, in the last couple weeks... maybe I should retire those pants).

I won't pretend to be a super woman.  I won't claim to be a super hero.  I won't boast to be a super mom.  Because, quite honestly, I'm not.  It may look spectators that I am when I calmly herd my three littles into a restaurant for supper, and they sit down quietly and excitedly tell the waitress their order.  But then as soon as she turns her back, two of them are sword fighting in the booth, shortly before one of them bites the other one in the bathroom fighting over who uses what toilet stall.  I hug the injured and break out my "mad voice" and my "mean Momma Bear glare" at the other while the wait staff smiles at me with a knowing look.

I don't have it all together.  I'm not a super-hero, super woman, or super mom.

I'm your run-of-the-mill, ordinary single mom just doing the best she can, usually.  Sometimes I'm not doing the best I can. Sometimes I'm doing what I can just to get through the moment... which I guess, in those moments, is actually probably the best I can.

I will be first to admit though, it does take some sort of super power to be a single mom, a co-parenting mom, or a happily married mom (or dad).  Like I said, parenting is crazy tough.

So, as I sat there, this morning, reminsicing about last night as I choked down the straight black coffee I was accidentally given instead of my regular order in the drive-through this morning, after having forgotten to make my own at home like I usually do, I thought about these super powers that are needed.

And, I realized...

I DO have super power.

It's the power of the Holy Spirit.  It's the power of Jesus. Its' the power of God.

As soon as I realized that, I had verses flooding in my mind, and I needed to share them here.

Because, if we want them, we can ALL have super powers.

Every single parent out there.  Every single person without children out there.  Every single child out there.

We're all equipped.  We just have to seek them.

Ask God, He'll give them to you, freely, lovingly, and happily.

That's how I do life right now, when I'm too tired, too overwhelmed, too frustrated, too sad, too everything.  I lay down on the floor with the lights out (or maybe as I drive in broad daylight in the van, or a hundred other places and ways) and I let God in.  It's not always a conscious effort, to be honest.    But, he reaches me, and he blesses me, and through every tear, every sleepless night, every pants-backward-at-work-Wednesday, every joyful-they-ordered-their-own-supper Friday, every big and little moment, I keep on keeping on.  He's the One pulling me up, so I don't even need straps on my boots.

Sometimes, of course, I don't feel this way. I don't see it this way.  Even as I write this today, knowing exactly how I make it through, I'm still exhausted and a bit overwhelmed (even knowing God's going to carry me through).

And you know what, those are my worst days.

I'm praying for less and less of those days, and more days where I'm fully aware of my super power, MY Super Hero.  (Even on those days when I don't think I'll get through it, I know somehow I will, even if I'm too stubborn to admit the real reason.  I'm imperfect.)

I'm praying the same for each of you.

Blessings!

In the morning, she will be three.

My sweet, beautiful girl,

Tonight, I laid you down, and you told me "tomorrow is my birthday, mama."  We said our bedtime prayer, which ends "God is great, God is great (you insist we say it twice), AMEN!" You asked me for a kiss, and then a hug, and then to cover you up, and then for a kiss, and then for a hug, as you do almost every night.  I closed the door behind me after hugging and kissing your brothers and turning out the light, and I breathed deeply as I realized that tonight is the last night of this year of your life.  It tugs at my heart.

This is the first year you've shown excitement about it, after celebrating a few other birthdays over the year, your memory being much more acute, and feeling traditions take place as you and your brothers grow older.  I'm excited for your excitement, though it's bittersweet to see you transition from baby-hood even further.

Darling girl, tonight, you're still two.  Tomorrow, you'll be three.

I sit here thinking about how, growing up, I had hoped that someday I would have a daughter.  In my mind, she would be a perfect, smiling ball of joy, with curly hair, and beautiful features.  She would be kind and smart and so much more.  After God blessed me with your two brothers, I felt it was my calling in life, loving them so deeply, to be a mom to three or four boys, and felt I would never have a daughter.  I don't know why I felt this way, and it was bittersweet, but I was so sure.   When I was told you were on the way, I didn't believe it until they placed you on my chest, and you were in fact my little girl.  Every day since then, it has made so much sense that you were brought into our lives.  I didn't ever imagine you would fulfill my dreams to precisely.  You belong with us, and God knew it.

My heart can hardly handle another birthday.  Yet another year has flown by too quickly, though, fortunately, the chaos in our lives has slowed down quite a bit, and this transition from two to three years of life with you is much clearer in my memory and I feel I was much more focused on our days together, enjoying them, savoring them, and cherishing them.  Not that I didn't in years past, but someday, you'll understand what I mean when I say they were busier and harder and much more muddled together.

Not this year.

This year, I watched you blossom from a young toddler into a much more mature toddler.  I've heard your vocabulary soar with countless words and phrases I have never heard a two-year-old use before.

I've seen your sweet little self turn a little more sassy, as I was warned may happen over time.  I miss the days when I don't have to remind you to use a "kind voice," but I cherish your personality all the same.

I've seen you grow so tall, your hair so long and curly, your eyes so wide and filled with deep wonder.  You've become very independent, but you still totter back and forth from being "big" and "little" where sometimes you want to do everything on your own, and other times you'll cry on the floor because you think you need to be carried.  I'm sorry when I don't give in to the tantrums.  It's not because I don't want to carry you, it's just that I don't want to fuel that behavior.  I do, in fact, love that sometimes you still want to be carried, and I love the feeling of your arms wrapped around me as I carry you.  Your brothers very rarely express that desire anymore, and I know it will be all too soon that you won't want me to, either.  You use the most adorable phrase when you want to be held, as you tell me "I want to hold you," even though you really mean it the other way around.

I love that you still want to cuddle, sit on my lap, and snuggle in bed sometimes.  I love that you still ask for a kiss and a hug when I drop you off at daycare or Sunday School in the mornings, and that you still want them both before bed at night.

I love when you call me "Mama" instead of "mommy," and I don't know why.

You've got an excellent memory, little lady.  You know almost everyone's name at daycare and Sunday School, and you can recall the middle names, favorite colors, and eye colors of the people who mean most to you, assuming you've inquired what these things are already.

You love music, and art, the outdoors, and your blanket. In the morning, your favorite cat is Benjamin, but when we get home at night, your favorite cat is Lucy.  They both love you, and they're so gentle with you.  When you're sick, they are by your side.  You recently developed a love for birds, and you proclaim it almost daily.  You also love tigers, and dogs, and fish, and bunnies, and lions, and horses, and ponies, and unicorns...  I'm sorry I couldn't give you a pet tiger for your birthday like you requested repeatedly.  Someday, you'll understand.

You've surprised me and gone from wearing diapers full time to barely wearing them at all, and you're so proud of your big girl status in this area.  While I'm grateful that the diaper budget has dwindled immensely and I don't have to change diapers all day every day, it's a reminder that you're not going to be little for much longer.

I love listening to you sing songs and narrate your play.  You've such a bright imagination.  I love that you will play with both of your brothers on a daily basis.  They love you dearly and they make sure you know it.  They are so good about building you up with positive affirmations and compliments.  I hope you'll always remember how beautiful they think you are, even if sometimes they're not being very nice to you.

Baby girl, soon you will lose the remaining baby features on your little body, and become a preschooler like your brothers.  I pray you'll take the days a little more slowly than you have been over the past year.  I know you want to go to kindergarten, too, but you've only a few short years to be a tiny little girl.  Don't rush through them, please.

I pray that as you grow older, you'll continue to be kind, gentle, intelligent, helpful, and hilarious.  I hope you'll want to spin in a dress for years to come, rock baby dolls gently, and give hugs freely.

You light up every room you walk into with a smile full of sunshine.

I pray that I will always be able to remember the deep chocolate color of your bright eyes, the spirals in the back of your hair as they dry after bath, your dark, long eyelashes, especially as you sleep against my shoulder sometimes, the warmth of your tiny little hand as it holds my finger while we walk, and the jubilant melody of your laugh, among everything else about you.

I pray you'll always let Jesus in your heart, and show other's his goodness.  I pray you'll be a blessing to each person you come across.

Miss Norah, you stole our hearts from the get-go.  Cherish it as we cherish you.

Thank you for all of the joy you bring to this world.

I love you, Sweet Pea.
-Mama

Sometimes, I'm the baby.

My children... They're little. They're not tiny. They're not babies. But they're not big.

Sometimes, though, they seem so big.

With fall rolling around, we have so many milestones coming up. I'll soon have a kindergartener, and also a 4 year-old, a 6 year-old, and a 2.5 year-old.

We have lived in our apartment for over a year, making it the longest home my daughter has ever had.

I've been listening to my children talk and play a lot more lately. I've slowed myself down and just observed. They're all so intelligent and so hilarious. They're polite and kind. They're loving. They're naughty. They're kids.

Today, I laid in my bed watching the younger two play. For no reason that I could immediately pinpoint, I was suddenly in tears. 

They fell and they fell, leaving river trails down my face onto my pillow.

The years have been so hard. They've been insanely exhausting. They've been incredibly overwhelming and exceedingly trying. They've been a whirlwind that seemed to last forever in some moments.

But they passed so quickly at the same time.

My first baby, the one who turned my world upside down in great ways and made me momma... His years at home with me during the week day are done. They have been for almost two years of course, but somehow knowing he's going from daycare to school... It is the end of his baby, toddler, and preschool days. He's a "big kid," now. I don't know how he got so big so fast. 

I called him into my room to hug me. He asked why, and all I could say is "because I love you and want to hold you." He obliged but looked at me like he thought I was crazy.

I just want to hold him on my lap and rock him a while.

My heart can't handle it.

The second child, the fierce one... He's so little but so big. He will be four in days. He is still pint-sized, which makes him seem younger sometimes. But I watch him play, color, write, and listen to him talk, and it's clear he's not a baby, and he's not a toddler anymore. All of his baby and toddler pudge and rolls are gone. Soon he likely won't wear diapers to bed anymore. He could start school next year.

My heart can't handle it.

Then there's the youngest. She is so self-sufficient. She spins and dances and asks me to watch her and I can't stop watching her golden curls twirl around her face as she giggles incessantly. I watch her cuddle her kitty (our cat) in the morning and take care of her babies. When I listen, I hear her teaching them things. She loves to draw circles and she can draw her own bath, too. She wands to choose her own outfits. But, thankfully for my heart, she still is part baby, though mostly toddler. She still asks me to hold or carry her sometimes. I don't always want to, but sometimes I need to, because all too soon she won't want me to. Her baby days are numbered and her toddler days are flying by.

My heart can't handle it.

So, I become overwhelmed with tears. I gather them all on the couch to watch a movie so they don't notice the tears still trickling.

Their little days are numbered. This makes me the baby now.