I once had three baby boys. I blinked.
For years, 7:30 p.m. meant bedtime. I blinked.
My son gently wakes me at the end of SNL. “It’s time to go to bed mom.”
My sons each played with a Fisher Price phone, animatedly chatting with Elmo and Cookie Monster. I blinked.
They now show me shortcuts in the iPhone, out-texting me easily.
I brought juice boxes & animal crackers to share at play dates with other preschoolers. I blinked.
I just sent my oldest for twelve hours at Great America with his friends.
In the early days I carried one boy on each hip. I blinked.
Now I look up to one and wonder how soon the other two will tower over me.
I pushed a double stroller everywhere. I blinked.
I have to call out for them not to get too far ahead on our bike rides.
I read Margaret Wise Brown & David Shannon aloud every single day. I blinked.
Now I’m discussing “Fast Food Nation” with my sixth grader.
I rolled a ball back and forth across the living room floor. I blinked.
I have to check the tournament team schedule before making weekend plans.
I controlled their schedules, their meals, their clothing, their friends. I blinked.
I’ve lost control.
I had three baby boys. I blinked.
I don’t have babies anymore.