Thumbs Up

For nearly a year now every time we'd give Quinny a thumbs up she'd look right back at us and enthusiastically stick up her index finger, totally and inexplicably unaware that she wasn't our mirror image. It was one of the most endearing things about this little lady, especially since she's so big and smart and independent and sometimes her pointer high and proud was the reminder I craved that she's still such a little thing. I would smile and laugh quietly to myself, but was committed to never correcting this sweet innocence of toddlerhood, especially on my Quinny Cat.

But this week, it seems, she graduated to girlhood all on her own and without permission from me. She walked into the kitchen one morning, cereal covering the counters and bed-headed siblings surrounding the homework table and without warning said, "Look, guys, fumbs up!" And did she hold up her index finger for all to see? No. It was her thumb. Her actual thumb. She did it with one hand, then with two. She kept opening her hands wide and then squeezing them into a fist once again, the thumb ever present, ever proud, as if she wanted to prove to herself and us that she was really doing it: Growing up. We all started clapping and hooraying and she was beaming as bright as the Summer sun, but in my heart it was there: Sadness. My baby girl is growing up and there is nothing I can do about it.

I'm never one to feel overly sentimental about my children getting older, frankly because I think they become radder by the year and their maturing ages open up doors for adventures and fun that having babies just doesn't allow. That being said, every once in a while some milestone is met and I think, wait a minute...slow down...time, stop passing...they're almost grown. It happened a few months ago when Coco easily stopped taking milk bottles to bed. It happened a few weeks ago when I noticed Everett was pronouncing some of his r's clearly in words. It happened last night when T researched, ordered and paid for his own alarm clock for his room. And a few days ago, it was Quinn with her dirty little thumb in the air. All of these are good and my heart is bursting with love and excitement for them, but a little bit of me wants to press pause and just love their littleness a little longer.

Being a mother is the hardest job I've ever had. Some days I think I'm doing a pretty decent job and other days I know I'm failing, but all of the time I love them. I'm grateful for them. I want them. And I try so very hard not to ever wish the time away.

Amidst the thumbs-up hoopla the other morning came a new milestone that I can get behind, but also almost made me cry. Little Cora, covered with greek yogurt and eyes full of diamonds, looked at her sister and said, "Fumbs up? Fumbs up!" and did she put her thumb in the air? Not even close. It was her index finger, high and proud, with a giddy dance around the kitchen for her accomplishment. You know me well enough to know that I won't be putting that pointer down, I'll just be sitting here soaking up the remainder of my days having a toddler to call my own.