Yesterday I watched a video
Of my eight-year-old son as a baby
Thirty seconds of his eyes trying to stay open
Fighting the coming sleep
With each new version of our children
I forget the ones before
Their eyes lighting up as they squawk
Their three or four words thrilling us
As they learned to talk
As parents we feel grief and joy at once
It's like a Tilt-A-Whirl
The thrill of growth rides
With the loss of what once was
My son is now eight
Sometimes makes his own smoothies
I smile at the independence
But realize someday he won't need us
I'm at my best when I live in acceptance
Yesterday is gone, tomorrow to come
I can re-live or pre-stress
But my children are laughing, so I'll do that later.
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