slipping through my fingers...

these boys.
these make-my-heart-ache with all of their growing-up-so-fastness boys.
the other week i noticed they practically take up the whole tub together.
when did that happen?
the other day i noticed that both of them have really changed. physically.
they just look... old.
and i find myself trying to make excuses to hold them, as i become more acutely aware of their ever-expanding bodies, that will someday soon be too big and lanky to lift and carry.
i remember my mom telling me i had to jump for her to pick me up.
and now i am saying it to them.
and it's just so... painful.
so gut-wrenchingly awful.
i read a blog post recently where the mom talked about how we cherish all their "firsts", but do we cherish all of what could very well be their "lasts"? the last time they hold our hand in public, the last time they let us kiss them, hold them, snuggle them... the list goes on.
and reading it, i just about wanted to scream.
i used to look at moms who talked this way or lamented their baby turning five and heading off to kindergarten as sappy and overly emotional.
but now. sheesh. it all makes sense. too much so.
it is all so inevitable. and yet somehow it snuck up on me like a tornado.
all threatening and doomsday-like.
unstoppable.
they're growing, changing, losing innocence by the hour.
asking grown up questions.
wanting to know about life.
experimenting with words like "stupid" and "hate".
and i suddenly grab them and hold them and tell them about when they were babies... what they looked like, and how they stared at me, and what i'd sing to them... ANYthing, just to get them to hold still and gaze into my eyes for one more moment... before they won't anymore. i gasp for words to let them know how deeply i love them. but all that comes out is generic and fleeting--"I love you so much"-ness.
and it bruises my heart as it tumbles around in my chest wanting to leap out and show them its fierceness. its pride and joy and hopes and fears for them.
i try to draw them near, but their heads bounce away from my chest in an instant, and no matter how many times i try, i can't hold onto them for long. their energy pulls them away.
and i am at a loss.
as to how to take in what's left.
as to how to enjoy the moment as it flits past and joins the many that have gone before it, blurring into one big (tear-)stained-glass rearview mirror.
my babies, like sand, slipping through my fingers.
and all at once i know i should be thankful. that they are healthy and vibrant and growing like weeds. that they are smart, and curious, and active, and able. that no catastrophe has halted their growth or blocked their pathway through childhood thus far.
i know i should be dwelling on all of that good.
it brings perspective. it calms my anxious, spinning mind.
but many waters cannot quench love.
and love is a deep and agonizing journey.
and children are only your heart walking around outside of you.
and regardless of all of the thankfulness i can muster...
this deep and guttural cry will never be silenced.
for it is the very core of motherhood.
to come to terms with the fact that something once a part of your very flesh will forever be inching away from you, from the day it is severed from you.
and to wear a brave and happy face as they do, while your heart is continually breaking.