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When memories are all that's left of childhood, I'll remember the little legs

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Little legs sticking out of the kitchen cabinet.

Little feet not tucked in because the little person they are attached to doesn’t quite understand that I can still see them even if the rest of her body is hidden. Little fingers peeping over the top, trying to close the door despite the obstacles that are her shins.

Little little little.

Little moments like this that make my heart smile and my mind contemplate how little of these times I’ll have. Sure, there seem to be endless moments like this now, and some days I have little patience for all the littleness, but some day I know I’ll yearn for these moments.

I’ll remember little feet slapping the floor as they ran down the hallway in our small little starter house.

I’ll remember little voices squealing with delight as their Dada dragged them down that same hall, little hands clasped tight around his ankles.

I’ll remember little pieces of paper scattered around the house with the same five words written on them, including “Love Mama” by little hands that were just learning to form letters.

I’ll remember rocking sleeping babes, examining the soft little eyelashes laying peacefully against perfect skin as my hand relished the rise and fall of little chests.

I’ll remember little hands engulfed in mine as we slowly meandered around the block stopping to collect valuable rocks and precious sticks.

I’ll remember the feel of little squishy cheeks on my lips and the sound of little giggles bubbling up from two little girls my heart thought it couldn’t love any more than it did in that moment.

I’ll remember how with the very next giggle I knew I loved them even more.

And someday, someday sooner than I think, I’ll have a quiet house and will shed a little tear as I remember little legs sticking out of the kitchen cabinet on a Wednesday night.


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