My sister-in-law shared this article (I share it below) from THIS blog 

She pretty much said what I say all the time! 
Its just a good reminder for us Mom’s to read and its funny cause I’m
always saying a lot of what she wrote too. I think as the years have
gone on and I have some
that are older now, I look at how FAST it goes. It is so true, you
never know that LASTS. Our Luke is like Gregory and at bedtime he comes
out a bunch and always needs extra kisses, hugs, needs to get something
etc. and the big one…. he needs DADDY to tickle his back and
sometimes me…. its sooo cute but also can sometimes get annoying when
we want to get on with our evening with no kids up. Its just a nice
reminder to enjoy it all and take it in because soon…. they won’t need
it anymore. Gregory doesn’t come out anymore, nor needs us to tickle
his back, nor does he need me to kiss him or hug him a million times
before going to sleep…..

Its how I always look at rocking my babies to sleep too, or letting them
nurse to sleep. All the books say to train them a certain way so they
sleep right or whatever, but it goes
sooooo fast. Does it not?  They eventually get it and they won’t go to college
needing you to rock them or nurse them to sleep.  I can’t do the cry it out thing and all the tips those books give you.  I
just get them up, cuddle, feed, rock and get them back to sleep, and yes sometimes its in the wee hours of the morning so they sleep with Brian and I in bed for a short time. Maybe
I’m wrong according to all the “experts”… but it works for us and I always think kinda like her… it
could be the last time he wakes in the night or it could be the last
time he lets me rock him etc…  Enjoy the read and try not to cry….


“Tonight, Little Dude asked for a snuggle before bed. It was well past
his bedtime and I was tired, cranky and had a stack of laundry to fold,
a memo to write and a blog post to finish. I told him I’d snuggle for
two minutes.

He crawled under his blanket, squirmed until he was comfortable and
pushed me to the edge of the mattress. He offered me his favorite
blankie to keep me warm. I put my arm around him and he was sound asleep
before I had finished cataloguing the list of things I had to do before
I could crawl into my own bed. I considered making a stealthy escape
but stopped when he threw his arm around my neck while mumbling
unintelligibly. A sleeping 4-year old’s arm has as much strength as a
soggy piece of toast, but I didn’t move. Despite my earlier desire to
leave, I stayed and pulled him toward me.

I had one of those rare blissful parenting moments when everything
else fades away and you appreciate the simple physical presence of your
child. I marveled at the amount of heat a small boy produces when he
sleeps and the ease with which he leaves the world behind. I smelled his
hair. The laundry could wait.

It hit me in the darkness of his cluttered room that these days are
numbered. Some night in the future, Little Dude will ask me to snuggle
with him before he falls asleep, and I will have no idea that it will be
the last time. I won’t know to pay attention or to try to commit every
minute to memory. Days or weeks or months later, I will try to recall
when that last snuggle happened. I won’t be able to. I know I will ache
to slide next to him on his narrow bed, listen to him breathe and wait
for the moment when he surrenders to his dreams. All of the irritations,
the inconveniences and the wishing for time alone will seem
insignificant in comparison to the warmth and peace of his nighttime
routine. I will regret the times I hurried through bedtime and left his
room even though he asked me to stay “Just one more minute, Mommy.”

It will be too late.

I just now understand that in anticipating my son’s “firsts,” I’ve
forgotten to appreciate what he’s left behind. The firsts are
monumental, celebrated and captured on film. I reveled in Little Dude’s
first steps, jotted down his first words and am prepared to save lost
teeth. There isn’t a first I haven’t recorded in some way. I’ve paid
less attention to his “lasts.” I’ve ignored the finality that comes with
moving from one stage to another.

I don’t remember the last day that Little Dude’s eyes were blue
before they turned green. I can’t recall the last time his hair was baby
soft and curly, or the last time he crawled or took a real nap. I can’t
pinpoint the last time we shared the peaceful quiet of a 3 a.m.
feeding, or he squealed with joy to be riding his wooden rocking horse.
There will be a hundred last times to come. And I won’t know they’ve
passed until there is no hope of recapturing them. I know this because I
don’t remember the last day he used a pacifier or waited for us to get
him from his bed rather than clomping into our bedroom at some ungodly
pre-dawn hour exuberant and ready to face the day as we struggle to open
our eyes. I’ve forgotten when he stopped liking sweet potatoes or
saying “Pick mine up!”

Not that there aren’t stages I’m happy are gone. I don’t miss
teething, two-hour feedings, biting or needing to be carried everywhere.
I’m neither Pollyanna nor a masochist. Babies are darling; I’m also
glad I don’t have one anymore. Raising children isn’t all warm snuggles
and charming memories. Parenting can be a long, hard slog.

But for today I’m focusing on the last times still to come, even
though I won’t know that they’re the last chapters until long after
they’ve gone. The last snuggle. The last time Little Dude asks me to
bring him chocolate milk. The last time we play fire trucks. The last
time he falls down and comes crying to me with his entire body shaking,
tears streaming down his face, believing with childish certainty that a
kiss from me will make his skinned knee better. The last time he asks to
marry me. The last time he believes in my omniscience. The last time we
color together at the kitchen table. I’m not naïve enough to believe
that this moment of reflection will stop me from becoming irritated,
impatient, frustrated, bored or upset tomorrow when my son whines,
spills spaghetti sauce on the rug or throws a fit because I won’t let
him stay up late. Maybe, though, I’ll temper my response if I can
remember how fleeting this all is. That for every moment I’ve prayed
would end, there is something I miss”.