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While going through an entire summer's worth of photos, contemplating blog posts and the annual photo books I promised myself I'd get caught up on before we add two more to our brood, I came across a photo of Porter and Nora building wood chip castles.
Porter's is big and intentional. Nora's is small, and what you don't see in this picture, is that every three seconds or so, Nora glances over to see what porter is doing and alters her building plans accordingly.
You also don't see the devastated big brother just two minutes later, when his little sister suddenly swipes at her own castle, taking Porter's out with it.
My point? She is the little sister, as evidenced by her terrible-two tantrums and mimicry, but she will also soon be the big sister. And though I have always known that he would be the big brother, a big brother to one little sister feels a whole lot different than a big sister and a big brother to three.
My little kids are growing up.
This one started school a few weeks ago. Not preschool. Real K-12 and then on to college school.
And he plays a game called "girl emergency" with his friends at recess (from what I gather, the girls capture one boy, and the rest of his buddies try to rescue him from the cootie-infested giggly grip).
And he's suddenly asking me questions about science with answers that I forgot I ever learned (inner core, outer core, mantle and crust — totally forgot mantle and had to pull the "ask Daddy when he gets home" card). Most nights, I have to pepper him with a range of questions just to find the one right question that unzips his lips, reminding him of the one thing from the day that he actually wants to share with his nagging mom.
That's right, nagging. He has never used that word, but more and more, my requests for him to put shoes away or wash hands before dinner are met with eye rolls and "You always make me do everything."
Like it or not, he keeps growing up. And I have to remind myself that five is really just the beginning — the start of a whole childhood he'll one day look back on. Because right now, it feels so old.
And compared to the idea of two little infants who keep hogging more of my thoughts and plans, she doesn't feel like she is that far behind. She can hopscotch. Not well. But she gets the general idea, knows how to count and is eager to try.
And she wants to do everything her big brother does which makes her seem all the older, because I never remember my first 2 1/2-year-old caring so much about playing with friends and hitting and wanting to be the boss. But this one does. And for a tiny little girl (she measures in at the fourth percentile for height), she sure can keep pace with the big kids. And though it's fun to watch, it's a little heart-breaking.
My babies aren't just not babies, they're kids. And will soon be the true big kids. They'll share a room and beg for cartoons and playdates and ignore my talk of bedtime. And sometimes, they'll get away with it simply because they are the big kids and can play on their own and manage themselves for a few minutes while I diaper and feed and swaddle. Feeling like the earth just shifted. And trying to soak up every minute of their littleness while I still can.
