Fun times at our house.

Or devestatingly bittersweet if you are a mom watching your two babies morph into capable little girls.

Catching a hint of shoulder peeking out from a tshirt and being hit with the full impact of that shoulder 15 years from now being caressed by a boy as he pins a corsage on the silk bodice of her Homecoming dress.

Or watching the furrowing of a not yet year old brow as your daughter sits in a high chair taking in the antics of her family, resenting her immobility and worshipping the every move of her sister.

Avery is eating food. She had Kix (loved them), cheese (curious, but not entirely taken with it), Clementines (may give up the breast for these), pasta (please dad, don’t put that slime in my mouth again), peas (are you kidding me with that thing?).

Briar was playing with Sean tonight. He lets her stand on a red dolly we have and he pushes her, careening through the rooms in the house, (Man, it’s like threading a needle in this doorway) and generally terrorizing the dog. After about 10 minutes he took a break to talk with me while she played piano. Couple of minutes into our talk she came out, her light aubrun bangs tickling her eyelashes.

“What’s a doing, Daddy?”

What’s a doing, Daddy? Jesus, it hit me like the Cat’s in the Cradle song. I swear I saw her grow in that moment. I saw the deepening of the hollows in her cheeks, the ripening of her lips, the lengthening of her neck.

How on earth am I going to survive watching her come into the amazing woman that she is destined to be?

How will I endure two? Avery is already moving so fast. She clutches Sean’s shoulders as they dance, burying her dark tressed little head in his neck.

Riding in the car and listening to the girls in the back seat I am able to hear all the reasons we had Avery. I am also able to hear how intimate and exclusive their bond is. I will never be their sister, never be a conditionless friend. I am their mother. Mom. Mama. Mommy. I will always remember the sensation of holding them for the first time. Feeding them from my body. Kissing them as they sleep.

I will always experience sorrow as I celebrate their milestones.

Today my babies swallowed and spoke.

Today I wept.