They grow up so fast and I often struggle with finding the balance between taking in the moment, mourning the past and the outgrown, and deciding if I'm more scared of them growing up or more excited to watch it happen.
And there are so many times that they are just so darned independent. Too independent, if you ask me, but not really. Just growing and learning; trying and failing and spilling but learning.
And I want to say, "Now wait just a minute, here! I have not said it's okay for you to get bigger, or know how to pour your own juice, or repeat swear words, or be embarrassed by my mommyness or write your freaking name."
And then sometimes they still just need to be held.
So do I.