Pumpkin patches





I am in disbelief over my babies at age three and now at ages 8 and 6 at the pumpkin patch. What will it feel like when they are 15 and 13? The thought of it makes my heart drop like a boulder into my stomach. There are certainly those days when I ask myself “when will they be 18 and able to take care of themselves?” But those days seem to happen a lot less than they did when they were 5 months old and I was up for the tenth time in the wee hours of the night. Now they can make cereal on their own, sleep through the night, play games together. It’s the perfect time where they are somewhat self-sufficient but also completely in love with me. I get hugs with no provocation. I get pleas for good-night kisses. I get random “I love yous” through the day.
Fellow moms tell me that it gets even better as they continue to grow up and develop their sense of selves, their independence. And I can see that as I watch those moms beam as their child scores a soccer goal or makes the Dean’s List.

But I will miss that constant affection and connection that I have with my babes right now. The thrill that runs through me when I step in the door and get knocked over on the ground with hugs. The warmth of two kids’ bodies curled against me as I read them a book. And the immense joy they exhibit by simply being dropped off from a hayride into a patch of pumpkins.

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