Brush Strokes

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My “baby” is 20 months old today. I’ve heard it said that with small children the days are long and the years are short and I agree.

It’s been a beautiful, if somewhat tricky ride. I only just feel like I’m hitting my stride now with having two inquisitive and energetic children. I think it’s been a matter of giving in to the chaos and trying to maintain some order. I am simultaneously sticking my heels in on some issues and letting go of others.

Though I love the new, the shiny, the prospects that come with turning a new page I am terrible at saying goodbye to the old things. I love watching my boys grow, change and become bigger, more detailed versions of themselves.

I never wish away the stage they are in. They’ve taught me to be more in the moment than I’ve ever been before. I am not however, good at saying goodbye to the old stages. That there won’t be a fuzzy newborn head to smell. Each set of clothes outgrown is evidence of change and I wistfully pack them away – sorting them in to boxes, labelling them carefully – and in so doing pay respect to the time that has gone by, the stripes we have earned, the figurative and literal growth.

Being their Mama is like watching a masterpiece under construction. Their portraits are being filled in, brush stroke by brush stroke. And as I watch I am in constant awe.

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