I'm in a rush.
I wake up at 5:00 am, quietly peel my three year old's foot off my face (yes, he is still in our bed. Don't ask.) and literally slither out of bed, pausing every second or two when he stirs. Don't wake up, don't wake.
I rush down stairs in long tip toed strides, maneuvering over the squeaky stairs. I have one hour before that three year old wakes up. One hour and about 50 photos to edit, emails to respond to, Buzzfeeds to laugh at. This is my golden hour.
But first coffee.
After the house wakes up, it's rush to feed the dogs, hurry and eat your oatmeal! Brush your teeth! We're late! GRACE! You forgot your socks AGAIN! August take that out of your pants! Get in the car! Faster, faster.
We went to a quiet park, played alligator tag, ran wild, laughed, cuddled. It was there that I really saw my children again, breathed them in. They are parts of me, of my heart, that changes, grows every day. The sweet cuddles, slobbery kisses will not always be attached to my hip. They will not always be small enough to be scooped up and squeezed.
These days are numbered and are the greatest.