Craving

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Even though they are right here in my house, I still crave my children. Somehow I thirst for those cheeks, for their hand in mine, for the can I sleep with you, for the help me, Momma, for the tell me a thecret, for the bedtime reading, for the morning snuggles, for bathtime. I ache for arms around my neck, for baby beds and baby pools, for baskets of diapers scattered within arms reach around the house, for sippy cups and plastic-tipped spoons, for crayon drawings on the refrigerator.

Those years of bath toys under foot and colorful plastic dominating the dishwasher, I thought it would never end at the time. Now I long for that precious skin, for those tiny, pearly teeth, for hand holding, for toy boxes, dandelion bouquets, toy-sized shoes. I long for that tiny body with the head tipped up to face me. I long for the stranger asking What did he say? and we being the lucky ones who know what he said in that baby language.

How can I miss Legos all over the house? Piles of stuffed animals in every corner of the room leaving no place for anything else. Stickers on the bedroom door. Toys in the bathtub. How can I miss cutting up their food on those little plastic plates each day? Bringing food and drink with us every time we walk out the door. Kids falling asleep in the car seat as soon as we hit the highway. Fanned toothbrushes from little fisted hands holding them. How can I miss the sweaty, teary, snotty hugs? Cheap, colorful sheets with favorite characters on them. Nail clipping night. Piles of laundry waiting for me to get to it as I chose time with the kids instead of clean clothes.

Elizabeth and her beloved Pink Baby

Imaginary friends with interesting names: when was the last time she played with Ariel Copechert? Fairy stories. That sweet lisp, I love you, Thithy. Crayons on the couch. Popsicle on the front porch every afternoon in the summertime. Strawberries on the wall. Paint spattered on the kitchen cabinets from an attempt at "Modern Art". Forehead kisses. Playing in the laundry basket. Mispronunciations that I don't want to correct. Hiding behind the couch. Eyes so bright with excitement that they seemed to sparkle. Toothpaste in the sink. Little girl dresses. A child crawling up into my lap. A child sleeping on my shoulder. Well-baby check ups at the pediatrician. Playing bubbles in the sink. PBS shows, yes, even that one. Little girl dresses. Kids sneaking into my room at night. Pockets full of treasure. Pink Baby going everywhere with us. The only thing I don't miss is Playdough.

But I do, I do miss these things.
Does the craving ever end?