I wrote this post a few years ago, Why I Still Carry My Kids, but it still is close to my heart, so I wanted to share it again today. A good reminder for myself & hopefully others. 🙂
I see you looking my way – when I hold my 7-year-old, my 5-year-old, my 3-year-old in my arms. I want to tell you something: my 9-year-old doesn’t fit there anymore… and that is why I still carry my kids.
It was last year that I carried him last. Last year that he was too tall to be carried. He is almost the same height as me now (I’m 4’11) and I remember when I tried to pick him up to carry him down the hall and I couldn’t do it. He has tall and heavier than I had remembered. When did this happen? When did he grow so much? Get so big? So old?
Last year, my seven-year-old got hurt on the soccer field and I went out and carried him back to the stands. My husband, who was also his coach said “Babe? Why did you carry him? He was OK to walk.”
I replied “Do you know how many of those people cared that I carried him? ONE. One person cared… Beau, our son.” He was the one that cared. He was the one that felt safe, loved, taken care of by his mom. It didn’t matter if the people in the stand cared because they weren’t my kids.
This year, Ethan, 5, was tired and when I told him that I would carry him, he said, “I think I’m too old now.” I told him that you will never be too old for your Mom to carry you. Too big, perhaps, but never too old.
When Allie, 3, wants to be carried, I pick her up. I joke with people that she lives on my hip. She won’t be this way for long. She is all about her mom right now and wants me to pick her up constantly. I love how she runs to greet me and jumps into my arms because I know that this ends. I know that they go from jumping into your arms to an “Oh, Hi, Mom.” in just a few short years. Yes, I’ll carry her… as long as she will let me.
I remember that in all of the things that we do, they end. My parents don’t tuck me into bed anymore, they don’t read me books anymore, they don’t tie my shoes anymore, they don’t help me ride a bike or read a book or do my homework. No… I’ve grown up. So will our kids. Soon, I won’t be doing those things for them. If I can just remember that this will not last long, I am more likely to enjoy it – every second of it.
Next week could be the last time that I carry Beau, our 7-year-old, up the stairs, or the last time that I carry Ethan, 5, to bed, or the last time that Allie, 3, wants to be carried through the grocery store.
Today isn’t that day… today I still carry my kids and I don’t care who knows it.
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