big girls

Sorry I’ve been quiet this week. Zoë has been out of toddler school and Stella has been out of her before-school program for almost two weeks now, and I’ll admit that it’s been a serious challenge to try to get all of my work done. Thank God for my parents, and especially my dad, who has come over a number of times so I can slip out to the coffee shop for a couple of hours before Stella gets on the school bus.

And now Stella is done with kindergarten, as well. She’s been counting down the days for weeks, and yesterday she was giddy with excitement. “I’m a first grader now! Can you believe that?”

I can’t believe it, actually. I have a first-grader? How did that happen?

Even though my stress level has been higher than usual lately—I’m teaching an online class, juggling two freelance articles and two book-editing projects—I’m trying to take a little time to just enjoy my girls each day. Last night before dinner, we filled water balloons at the hose and smashed them on the sidewalk, and then Zoë and I watched Stella go back and forth on her new skateboard. (I never had the guts to skateboard as a kid—I don’t even think it occurred to me to try—but my girls are something else. As Stella careened by us, Zoë shouted, “Wow, Stella. That’s cool!”)

Both of my girls are full of sass, both are incredibly strong-willed. (Now where did they get that?) And I’m aware—suddenly painfully aware—of how fast they are growing. So this summer, I’m trying to capture as many cuddles as I can.

Back in February, around the time that Zoë had her seizure, she started wanting to be rocked to sleep. And because she was sick and then she had the seizure, we started rocking her to sleep. So now, before nap and bedtime, after we have read her books and after she has “cuddled me” (“No, no, mama. I cuddle you!”) and after I have then cuddled her and we have gone back and forth a few times about it being time for nap or bed, she agrees to let me wrap her up in her soft, soft Tinker Bell blanket (“Wap me, mama. Wap me!”) and I rock her in my arms, humming a lullaby until she falls asleep.

There is nothing like staring down at a sleeping toddler. When she’s asleep in my arms, she looks so much like a baby still. I gaze down at her relaxed face, at her open mouth. I brush her sweaty hair from her forehead and lean down to kiss her cheek. And when I feel her body grow even heavier in my arms, I stand up to transfer to her crib. But then her eyes flutter and she says, “One more minute, Mama. Just one more minute.” And if I hesitate, she says, “Sit down.” So I sit back down on the edge of Stella's bed and rock her a little more. I just can’t help it.

Luckily, D will be done with school next week, as well, so I can write and work on teaching in the mornings—I’m going to finish the revision this summer if it kills me—and then we’ll switch in the afternoon. And each day, I’m going to hold my daughters and tell them how much I love them. Because soon I won’t remember them being this small.