Longing for the Lasts

It's strange how lasts come up out of nowhere and take the present away.   I remember reading one of my favorite author, Karen Kingsubry's, Let Me Hold You Longer and being saddened by the realization that the firsts weren't all I wanted to remember--one day they would become lasts.  I never really spent a whole lot of time thinking about it--probably because with three kids at home, there's always something to do, to make, to organize, to teach and well. . . life gets busy.

This weekend, this little one was on my mind. . .a lot.  Maybe it's because we spent a lot of time together this week with the big kids back at school.  Perhaps because I'm realizing full time or even more time than my twenty percent isn't an option for at least another two years until she is in first grade.  Or maybe it's because I'm noticing how she's growing up in subtle ways right before my eyes.
This summer I got rid of the diapers in the night time.  She potty trained early, but nights were never dry and my sleep was kind of important to me, so I put it off. . .until I ran out of diapers and out of excuses.  In the early days of summer there was accident after accident after accident.  I would sigh, get up, change her, change the sheets, tuck her back in and that would be our routine for awhile.  A long while, it seemed. Most nights.  Sometimes more than once a night.

No liquid after seven and I would make sure she went to the bathroom before I tucked her in. No such luck.  She wet the bed a lot.  I even began picking her up from her bed and putting her on the toilet as she slept against my shoulder--just to empty her bladder one more time before slumber was upon me. . .and eventually there were fewer accidents.  And one day, I didn't take her before my bed time.  And she would proudly exclaim to anyone and everyone, "I didn't pee my bed!" Those were actually her first words out of her mouth when I would greet her at the start of a new day. Every day I began to hear that more and more and more until. . .the wet beds stopped as did her exclamation of truth.  It's like we all came to expect that as our new normal and I'm the mama that is wracking my brain trying to hold onto the last time she needed me to have a successful night. 

And all at once I realize this is another one of those lasts.  And I try not to be sad about it.  How many nights was I annoyed and tired and frustrated as I changed sheets, changed pajamas, tucked her in yet again?  But now?  That is just a distant memory as the realization continues: she is growing up.