One day, I won’t be a baby’s favorite person.
One day, they will realize that I am not, in fact, the best cook in the world.
One day, they won’t want to sit down and eat dinner together at the table every night.
One day, Phaedra will lose her baby lisp.
One day, I won’t get to hear about all the boys that Phaedra ate lunch with at school.
One day, she’ll be much less delighted when she discovers I’ve cleaned her room for her.
One day, I’ll look back wistfully at the moments when they were all crowded around me crying at the same time.
One day, Bella will stop calling it “peenie butter”.
One day, they’ll scoop their own ice cream cone before bedtime.
One day, when Bella is sad, she won’t follow me around the house, snatching stray hugs whenever she can.
One day, I’ll miss the the way Bella seeks out my lap to curl up in and crash when she’s really tired.
One day, I’ll miss sleeping awkwardly propped up with a sleeping baby laying on my chest, breathing on my neck.
One day I’ll miss my frantic middle-of-the-night, hurry-before-she-wakes-someone-up searches for the missing pacifier.
One day, we’ll wake up and there will be no kids in our bed.
One day, we’ll wake up and there will be no kids in our house.
One day, but not today.