Luke has figured out how to crawl. He’s pretty fast, too. He’ll see something he wants — like his stuffed monkey lying two feet away — and he’ll start moving those little legs. Next thing you know, he’s got the monkey pinned to the ground in a wrestling hold.
Part of me beams with pride. I see him and think, You go, little dude! The world is yours!
Another part of me feels dread in the pit of my stomach at the thought of re-babyproofing the house.
And another part of me watches him scoot and feels a stab of sadness. I see him and think, Can’t he stay a baby just a little bit longer? Just a bit?
These three different feelings often coexist at exactly the same moment. That could be worrisome to me, but it isn’t. I know that it doesn’t mean I’m emotionally unbalanced, or anything like that.
It just means I’m a mom.
