Evidence of growth
Last week, I picked up two more envelopes - one for each daughter, and while the tears didn't flow this time around (I think I'm just more prepared for it now), the shock was still the same, especially when it comes to Peanut. She is transforming bit by bit into a bonafide Little Girl, slowly migrating away from her previous labels of "Baby," "Toddler," and "Preschooler."
And then there's Loaf. She is so petite, practically slight, and I can't help still think of her as my baby, but she's obviously growing, changing and maturing all the time. I know someday soon, before I can believe it, I'll open an envelope and there will be a tween looking back at me, followed soon thereafter by a teenager.
I dread it, and not simply because those years are virtually guaranteed to bring about eye-rolling, sighing and backtalking of epic proportions. I main reason I dread it is because I know the midday snuggles on the couch, the bedtime stories, the gigantic bear hugs around my neck, will be gone - found only in memory boxes and the dusty corners of my own brain. And, of course, envelopes of old pictures kept safely tucked away.