There are so many things that I get nostalgic for.  During the spring and summer, I miss being in my parents’ farm.  At Christmastime, more than any other time, I miss my sister, who lives in England.  At the end of summer, I miss my 4-H buddies, the time I spent at the State Fair, and the simplicity of a former life.  I always miss my friends.  I miss my elementary school pals that I have lost touch with.  I miss my middle, high school, and some college friends who I have drifted apart from.  I mostly miss being able to jump in my car or bicycle and go visit my pals on a whim, or hearing an unexpected doorbell ring, and see a smiling face ready to hang out with me.  I can still get together with my friends, but it’s a lot more work to coordinate now.  Anyway, I’ve always been this way.

Now that I am a parent, it’s even more obvious.  Last month, we potty trained Layla.  Yay!  No more diapers.  No more diapers. Ever.  We will never buy diapers again.  Obviously, it’s not the diapers themselves I will miss.  It’s the freshness of a newborn, who curs up like a caterpillar on her mama.  It’s their little arms, when outstretched barely reach past their heads.  It’s the sweet breaths they take, when they see a familiar face, but can’t yet speak or cheer to show their pure joy.  I will hold many newborns again, I hope, and will love all of the freshness of a newborn, but they won’t be mine.

I miss Maizy and Layla practicing sitting, then flopping over a few times before mastering balance.  I miss their rocking back and forth on all fours before they could crawl, and their contagious laughter once they figured it out.  I miss them pulling themselves up onto things, and their faces showing “Holy cow, I did it!”  I miss their first few steps, , their learning to run, to gallop, how to hold their bottles themselves, their first few bites of solid foods, their fist taste of cake, climbing steps, their stroller rides, the first time in a pool.  Gosh, I miss everything!

It’s so irrational.  And I know it is.  I love them both so much more than I knew I could, even when they were newborns.  And I know I will love, and then miss, all of the things they haven’t even done yet.  Maizy asked me the other day “Mommy, when I am a baby again, will you rock me to sleep in the yellow rocking chair like you used to?”  I explained that being a baby is a one time deal, but I rocked her for a while anyway.

My favorite thing about writing the book, which is called “Way Past Extreme,” is that my daughters will know their story.  They will know it all, even if I forget over the years.  They’ll always know how much they were loved for their entire existence.