It's Coming

It's here, PCS season.  This one has passed me by, but next year, I will be one of many, uprooted, reassigned, starting over.

One year has passed with one more to go. A year from now, the truck will pull up, boxes will be loaded, goodbyes will be said, and I'm not ready. 

Am I ever ready?

The goodbyes are painful, the cross-country trip is exhausting, and being the new person all over again is draining. 

I know it's coming and so do you. 

And I have something to tell you...

Thank you. 

Thank you for inviting us to your home, breaking bread with us, spending time with us, watching our children play together under the shade of trees on late afternoons, the sound of their laughter filling the air like smoke billowing from a fire.  I shut my eyes and picture what life would be like to stay in this place with these friends for a lifetime, a smile easing over my face, the thought relaxing my soul.

Thank you for getting to know me, investing your time in me, developing a friendship with me.  I may be one of many friends to you, but to me, you are one of few.  I have many friends all over country and all over the world, but here, in this place, you are one of the few.  

Thank you for letting your child be my child's best friend, playing together, laughing together, crafting paper hearts together.  I, like you, have dreamed of my daughter having a best friend, and here they are, spending all their time together, and I wonder how their hearts will break when I tell them about the move.  Thank you for letting my little girl experience all the joy of having a best friend, even if it is only for a few short years together.

It's coming. I'm not ready, and I never will be. Our family chose this life; yours didn't, so thank you for choosing to love our family.  

On The Day You Turn Three

Gazing at you softly sleeping in your bed, the days of your crib have long passed, chocolate brown ringlets dangle in front of eyes opening slowly, peering at me, noticing me, and I smile.  My heart fills with love for your sweet face, tiny body, little hands, and I remember the days that have passed since the day you were born.  Three short years ago, your tiny five-pound body entered this world, and you filled the room with your beautiful voice.  Oh, how I love your voice, the songs you sing, the stories you imagine, and the sweet, soft whispers you mumble in my ear. 

Filled with excitement for a new day, you jump out of bed, and change into your princess dress, twirling, floating across the room.  You are my baby, my last baby, and today you are three.  Staring at you, I see the little girl you have become, the baby rolls, diapers, pacifiers, swaddling blankets are all gone, given away, no longer needed. 

I call you my baby, but you are no longer a baby.  You speak, and words come out in sentences, unbroken and clear.  You sing, and new melodies fill the room with your voice.  You walk steadily across a room, run swiftly through freshly cut grass, skipping every other step, jumping over rocks and puddles.  You climb into bed at night without asking to be rocked, and I know if I offer, you will let me, but you no longer need the soft snuggles, quiet singing, and gentle rocking to be lulled to sleep. 

No, you are no longer a baby, my little last baby, but you will always be my baby. No matter how big you grow or how far away you move, I will always be your mommy, and you will always be my baby.  So on this day that you turn three, dance, twirl, sing, and run like the big girl you are, but when the day comes to an end, and your body needs rest, fall into my arms, and let me rock you, hold you, cuddle you, and sing softly in your ear because you are my little last baby, and I need it more than you do.