Witchling is my last baby. And he’s not even a baby anymore 😭
This morning, I was having a bout of the lastisms. I have “baby fever” every so often, when I miss the teeny tiny snuggles that having a baby completely reliant of you entailed.
But I don’t miss anything else that comes with having a baby. At. All.
When Witchling bounds over to me and asks me in his super sweet big boy voice to scoop me up and snuggle him, my heart just melts.
This morning, we’re sitting at breakfast at our local donut and biscuit shop, when I start sharing with Hubby some of my lastisms. I’m between misting and crying, and Hubby jokes that I should hold onto these until Witchling is 12…or 30. Witchling then jumps up and declares potty, so Hubby takes him.
As if on cue, his lullaby, Everlong (Foo Fighters) begins playing on the radio in the shop. Witchling and Hubby emerge between the first and second verses and before the first refrain. Witchling realizes what song is playing, gives me the biggest hug, and sits with me, singing along to the rest of the song.
These moments. These are what matter.