My oldest child is 25. My youngest child is 1. And I am mama to 10 more that fall in between.
My 1 year old cannot feed herself. Hold her cup. Walk from one end of the room to the other.
My 25 year old, on the other hand, no longer needs much help. For anything.
Being mama to this boy – my biggest boy who just turned 20 years old – is in many ways harder now than when he was 2…
and fearlessly scaling the bookshelves…
asking his 4679th why? question of the day…
Because when he was scaling the bookshelf, I was there to catch him.
When he was asking questions, I was the one to answer.
But now he’s big. Capable. And a whole lot further than one step away 95% of the time.
Mamas, squeeze your babies.
That doesn’t mean I don’t still try.
Happy 20th to you, my biggest boy. Whether you’re 15 pounds or 150, I’m so thankful I get to be the one you call mama.