My baby, I blinked, and you’ll be 5 tomorrow.

Those chubby arms that nestled into mine are stretched out like nimble sprigs, tossing footballs and wrestling brothers and printing the name we knew was yours the first time we saw your face.

I blinked, and those cuddles we shared from morning to midnight now only come at bedtime, and you no longer need me to sing a lullaby and rock you to sleep.

And all I did was blink.

My baby, I blinked, and you’ll be 10 tomorrow.

I remember it like yesterday when you proudly showed off your age with one whole hand. I remember your first day of Kindergarten and the tears that came. Still, somewhere in between lunchboxes and book fairs, I’m not sure where all the time went.

I blinked, and you learned to tie your shoes and ride your bike and don’t need my help sounding out new words in new books like you did just yesterday.

And all I did was blink.

My baby, I blinked, and you’ll be 15 tomorrow.

Now, you’re picking the radio station and shopping around for real cars instead of the matchbox kind. You slam your door, and I hope you know you can still call out for mama like you once did, day or night.

I blinked, and you’re starting to make plans. Actual plans to hang out with friends and get a job and you don’t wrinkle up that button nose when I mention a girl’s name.

And all I did was blink.

So, today, I will notice you for who you are, the treasure God is so gracious to share with me. And I will savor and be grateful for the time we have together, knowing one day the glorious present we’re living in will be just a memory.

And I will trust the God who made you to guide you and to hear all the prayers I’ll continue whispering over you as you sleep. And I will cheer you on as your story unfolds.

And try my hardest not to blink.

(Mommys15Minutes, Jaclyn Warren)