The last night we slept in our house in Texas before moving to Nashville, my daughter slept in her crib. We knew it was only a matter of time before she’d be climbing over the railing so we decided to leave it behind when we moved. I still carry the image in my mind of lowering her into a “baby bed” that last time.
Now, two years later, we’re getting ready to move again. There are different things we’ll leave behind this time: the booster seat, the tricycle (she’s a two-wheeler now), the Fisher Price barn. I’ve never packed a house without a wave of nostalgia.
I can’t help thinking of who we all were when we moved in and who we’ve become since.
I miss footed pajamas and Spiderman costumes. The smell of a new box of diapers makes my heart ache. I will always long for the tiny people my kids used to be, but we’re not raising children; we’re raising adults. I’m grateful for the hard-earned growth and maturity we can see in each of them.