Mourning the little things

I have written and re-written an opening to this blog entry about a dozen times now and nothing seems to flow properly. I really don't know how to lead into what I want to say, so I'm just going to jump in all abrupt-like and drive my inner-linguist a little bit crazy.

There are little things that Callen does that, because he is my second-born and I now actually know how fleeting stages and phases are, I really find myself mourning, even before he's done doing them. When Audia was a baby I felt like I was always looking forward to the next thing, but with Cal I feel like I am a little more present, and as a result, a little more aware and emotional over the passing of stages and of the fact that my baby is no longer that. He's a toddler, and after toddler comes preschooler and after preschooler is a kid and after a kid is a teen and after that, good lord, the kids are moving out and entering adulthood and WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?! Audia is only four, and Cal only 15.5 months, and I am already feeling the panic and sadness and excitement of who they will be, where they will go, and what they will do.

But the passing of the little things is really hard this time around. Maybe because we don't know that we'll expand our family any further. There is a good chance that Cal is our last child, and there will be no more babies in our house. Little things like the way that Cal will rest his head on my shoulder, even if only for a second, any time I pick him up out of his carseat. Soon he'll be climbing out of his carseat himself and those wonderful seconds, which add up to wonderful minutes over the course of a week, will be no longer. The way that Audia will snuggle in next to me on the couch for a minute when I sit down, before she gets distracted by something and is up and playing again. How long will that last? When did I stop snuggling with my mom and decide that it wasn't cool to be affectionate? The way Cal wants to hold my hand when we're in the car and he's tired, and how without fail, about a minute after I reach back to let him hold my finger, he's asleep.

The passing of time, the changing of seasons, the transitioning of phases. They happen to everyone and no one can stop any of it. But it still comes as a surprise, and as a heartache, when it happens to you. I think of how fast the past four years, the past 15 months have gone and it feels like tomorrow I'll be writing about how Audia's off to college somewhere and Cal is in High School. *sigh*