When you have your last baby and you know (permanently, surgically) that she is the last baby, there can be moments of sad/wistfulness about it. She is 15 months now so already there are baby things that don’t happen anymore: no milk drunk babies sleeping on your chest, no nursing, no more chewing on tantalizing baby feet (her feet smell now from her beloved summer sandals. Her feet are still satisfyingly fat but now they smell like corn chips by the end of the day).

I love babies and there are things I will miss about the baby phase.

But today I saw a picture a friend posted on Twitter of her young daughter (maybe 8 years old or so?) curled up in a chair, deeply engrossed in reading a Harry Potter book.

And, oh man, the anticipation and hope I felt at that moment. I love reading and spend most of the summers of my childhood either swimming or deep in the pages of a book. I don’t know if the kiddos will be readers (please, please) or not but I can hope and look forward to maybe days in the future where we can lay in a hammock together and read.

That sounds delightful.


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