Is this the Last Time?

We left the farm last month and hit the refresh button.  My system upgraded and when I powered back up, I found myself recognizing the fleeting experiences we are living out.  May learned how to swim and I realized that I wouldn't be suiting her up in any sort of flotation device again...an indication of more independence to come for her.

We are currently finishing Jack's last box of diapers ever...not out of the woods yet but at least graduating from the extra padding that's hugged his little body since day one.  Now that I am deep into raising young kids, I can see how the repetitive motions seem like they will never end.  Diaper changes are dwindling as Jack is getting the hand of the 'porcelain throne'.  Is this the last time I'll 'potty train' someone?  Is this the last winter May will ask me to go ice skating with her, rather than a school friend?

It's bewildering inviting little souls whose paradigm runs at a different pace into your life.  Largely years seem to go faster as you age, but spending all day with these wee ones has thrown me.  In a way days seem longer, almost like mini epic novels.  Jack no longer naps and so our days are like stop and go traffic...working in brief spurts while he finds his independence.  Then on a dime I close the lap top halfway through a drafted email when the dependency of the mini man pulls me back into his world, reminding me that he is only in his third year of life.  An attention span of reasonable length is yet to be born in him.

As something within me has seemed to be calling to my attention lately: I am experiencing times as a mother that are finite.  Admittedly I'll be grateful when Jack finds a better means of expressing himself and his two-year-old fits of frustration come to a close.  Yet I feel so defensive of our fancy free dance parties that break out when I'm doing my dishes to music.  When does inhibition come to play?  Maybe I have another handful of years to dance my tail off with him.

I'm ever grateful to our cyclical life as farmers for allowing me a whole season of coming back down to earth and back to my senses.  It's those dogged summer days when I forget to take pause and shake it with Jack.