before kissing him goodnight. This has been our evening routine for nearly four years now.
My little boy is growing up, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It happened so fast; almost overnight, he’s gone from a chubby infant who was completely dependent on me, to a smart and capable little boy who is continuously testing his boundaries. How many hundreds of hours have I spent rocking my babies to sleep? Silently wishing I wasn’t spending so much of my day in that rocking chair, waiting for them to finally drift off?
In fact, up until this point, I’ve been pregnant or nursing for the past four years. My children – at ages two and four – already don’t need me in the way they once did. And it’s equal parts heartbreaking and liberating. This must be one of the greatest paradoxes of motherhood: the desire to feel needed, while at the same time, longing for more freedom and time for ourselves.
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