In most instances, I consider myself "too cool" for the overly sentimental motherhood poems, but maybe they are finally wearing me down because this poem really hit home. Not at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this is such a fleeting precious age.
And it gives me patience for the moments that don't seem precious at all (like when Ivan cries for help to put his shoes on, and then throws a fit when I help put his shoes on; mixed messages, anyone?).
I found the poem here, and copied it and the photo collage idea.
The top left hand picture is the spitting image of a younger brother I once had who grew up and had an identical son of his own. Thanks for the quick trip back in time! Have a incredible summer!
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