Motherhood has made me two great enemies: clocks and calendars. The cliche is true, “The days are long but the years are short.” Time is a stealthy thief and it marches on impassively and indifferent. The other day I looked at Avett, I mean REALLY looked at him, and his legs were suddenly longer and his face was noticeably older in a way that gave me a glimpse of him 10 years into the future. Rosemary is now 5 weeks old and is starting to loose the slow sloth-like cadence of her newborn movements. Evie can read words like “nuisance” and long chapter books in bed every night. Today as I was stroking Clara’s hair to put her to sleep for her nap I felt the shape of her strong bones at my fingertips. They were larger and so unfamiliar compared to the baby I nursed and nestled only a year or so ago. These days won’t last forever and the weight of that taps on my mother heart. I don’t know how I can be so aware and unaware at the same time that the canvas of each of my children is changing right before my eyes in both slow motion and time-lapse. I want to hold on so tight to so many moments but I can’t. So I’ll capture them when I can, tuck them away, and then open myself to the novel beauty of what comes next. I love them as they are, I’ve loved them through so much before, and I’ll love them into what ever they will be. Evaleigh, Avett, Clara, and Rosemary: I’m so grateful to be your mother, I love you.