I often think about “the last time.” As in, the last time I rocked my now 11-year-old as a baby, or the last time I can pick up my 9-year-old and flip him over before he is too heavy to lift like that anymore. Sometimes I look back at my kids and regret that I didn’t recognize the last time that I fed them a bottle or sat them in a highchair. I feel like if I had recognized that last time I would have cherished it, intentionally made it into a memory I could re-live as they got older.
So now I try to look forward. I wonder, is this the last time I’ll be able to give her a piggyback ride? Or, is this the last time he will be willing to hold my hand in public without being embarrassed? I want to be on the look out for that last time, and I want to remember it, cherish it.
I want to be more present, more cognisant of my reality and more aware that every day I may be doing something with my children for the last time. I believe if I’m watchful, I’m less likely to miss the precious moments that make up a wonderful lifetime.