A Time We’ll Never Get Back

Most of the time, she is a far cry from the tiny person I met when the nurses first set her in my arms.

She cruises on a balance bike like she is a Boss. She elbows her way into her brothers’ wrestling matches and wields big eyes and a soft voice—her most powerful tools—like an old pro.

She can go from sweet and hilarious to mad and unstoppable in the blink of an eye. (See the above and below photos, taken in consecutive minutes, for proof.) 🙂

She’s not a baby anymore. She’s a little person bursting with a personality that is way ahead of her body.

Like all two-year-olds, she fills our family with life and laughter and wears me out in ways I never knew possible.

But every night, I crack open her bedroom door and watch the dim light from the hallway bathe her. I find her sprawled out on the floor next to the door (#toddlersdontlikebedtime), and I gather her awkwardly up into my arms and take her to her bed.

And every night, she stretches, and I get to see her as a baby again. It lasts for maybe three seconds, but they’re my favorite seconds of the day.

When I see it, I remember perfectly the bunched-up expression and the face shiny from milk. Red cheeks, soft skin, and a tiny mouth forming the sweetest yawn.

(It’s possible that I’m remembering all three of my babies make this face. My mind can barely distinguish them, but it doesn’t matter; all three of them are mine.)

When I see Quinn do it now, I’m transported back to a time I’ll never get back.

But I try not to dwell on the “I’ll never get it back” part. Instead I just feel so grateful that I got it in the first place.

Oh and that I get to do this stage with her (and her brothers), too.

---

A big thank you to PopSugar Moms for republishing this post: 1 Mom Looks Back at All the Time We’ll Never Get Back with Our Children.