I dread the day they’re never home because they have their own driver’s license. I dread the day algebra homework fills up their afternoons. I dread the day they are texting their friends at night instead of singing lullabies. I dread the day their broken crayons turn into broken hearts.
I dread the day they don’t come running to my bedside after a monster haunts their dreams at midnight. I️ dread the day I don’t have dirty fingerprints to wipe off the backdoor to the patio. I dread the day they get in their old hand-me-down truck and head off to four years of college in a city miles away.
I dread the day their sweet, little “momma’s” turn into a deep, raspy “mom.” And most of all, I dread the day their little hands turn into big hands and slip right through my fingers.
I dread the day because it’s coming sooner and faster and more abruptly than I’d like.
And so I’ll take the tired. I’ll take the sleepy. I’ll take the exhausted. I’ll take the interruptions when I️ shower and the nagging when I️ try to sit down and relax for two seconds. I’ll take the empty energy, empty milk cartons and empty tank. I’ll take it all with a full heart and a huge smile, because one day, one day soon, I’ll have an empty home instead.
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