Sisterhood Of The...

I'm not sure if every mamma out there experiences this, but I have to say, I'm feeling it rather acutely these days.  My kids are growing up.  GROWING.  UP.  

Translation, they are closer to growing away from me, and that is bringing with it so many, many emotions.  A few months ago, I heard a devotional that perfectly accentuated this feeling of both pride, nostalgia and agony over each of these new milestones.  The author spoke about how, especially first-time parents, we celebrate and capture the "Firsts".  First bath.  First smile.  First food.  First day of school.  But how rarely are the "Lasts" captured.  The last time they sneak into your bed at 5am to snuggle on a Saturday.  The last time they voluntarily kiss you in public.  The last time they ask for help buttoning their pants.  The last shoe lace tied.  The Lasts.  

I've been feeling the Lasts a lot.  I think it's one of the curses of having kids so close... you get so frantic with #1 and #2, and then start to regain your footing by #3 and once #4 comes around, you have sorted out how to grocery shop with four kiddos and how to do laundry for six people and how to get everyone, yourself included, out the door with shoes, clothes, snacks AND brushed teeth.  That's when you can look around and realize:  This is the last newborn-meeting-the-family picture.  My last 'first smile' moment.  My last newborn baby squeaks that I swore I would record with Em and have yet to get anything... on any of them.  

So, to honor the Lasts and all that comes with that, I made an effort.  I made an effort to remember not just the firsts which have been so dutifully put on the family calendar to hopefully (some day) be transferred to some sweet keepsake calendar just for that child, but also the lasts.  Zora is a speed demon.  She's intent on keeping up with, or at least being able to observe at her leisure, the rest of this zoo she lives with.  She's angry when she can't move with them outside, or to the next room, or upstairs.  She gets angry when they're eating and she doesn't have a spoon in hand.  But it's not an anger at being left out so much as her way of saying, "See, I'm just like you guys!"

This week, I had another Last moment.  It was gut-wretching too.  Auntie Em, who is family in a thousand ways and whom I love more than I love my shinny blue pot, fairly looted a going-out-of-business outlet when Em was a newborn.  When I got this massive package from her, it had clothing that at the time looked ENORMOUS and I couldn't fathom my daughter ever wearing them.  Then, we left for South Africa and sure enough, Emme fit into one of my favorite footed numbers.  At first, I loved it because it was so obviously pink, thus, girly.  Em had a rather androgynous look to her in those days and I appreciated the "I'm A Girl" statement of this outfit.  

Em wore it the whole plane ride from the US of A to South Africa.  She learned to walk in it and I had to hunt through all of Joburg for puffy paint (side note, things can be called by different names in different countries... learned that one real fast) to put on the little feet so she wouldn't slip and slide all over our tile floors.  Then, she got too big for it and I packed it away.  Not because I was thinking of saving it, but because I honestly wouldn't have known anyone at that point to give it away to.

 Then my Fireball of a Second Daughter came.  And I pulled it out because, once again, it was hard to tell gender.  I think it might have been those shinny bald heads that gave everyone so many issues.  Especially since we live next to so many retirement villages.  Either way, the same dots were on the feet that had been put there and the same ladybug that I loved.  But again, it got packed away because, again, she got too big for it.

 After Baby Girl was born, I was THRILLED to be able to pull out my stash of "girl clothes" once again.  My stack was diminished from a home assignment where many things were left and because of stains that no amount of hand scrubbing could redeem.  But amongst my favorite, out came this one.  THE ONE.  My baby clothing version of creme de la creme.  I washed it with the newborn clothes so I wouldn't forget it.  And then, all too fast, Baby Girl was in it.  And, all too fast, Baby Girl is out of it.  Three girls, one outfit, four very different milestones.  

 The last, and final chapter in the Sisterhood of the Growing Footed-Sleeper.