As we all start to collectively peek our heads out of our Covid hiding places - to look at the future and wonder "what is next?" - I can't wait for play dates. For full kitchen tables, endless games of make believe, playrooms destroyed in a matter of minutes, and the inevitable announcement that "We decided we are having a sleepover!"
I am so excited for my babies to see their friends again - to see you and to have the emotional benefits of these strong childhood friendships.
My desire, though, runs so much deeper than that. Yes, I will be so happy for my own kids when they can once again have normal childhood experiences. I count down the days until that can happen. Truth be told, though, I have also missed you.
Some of you, I held the day you were born. Sitting beside your exhausted momma, I kissed the top of your head, took in your baby smell, and knew I would love you forever. Others, I met when you were older, maybe in that precious chubby-thighed, thumb-sucking toddler stage. Maybe already in elementary school, independence and strong personalities taking center stage. But, immediately, I loved you, too.
And so - since I became a momma eight years ago - I have watched you grow alongside my own children. I have prayed over your valleys and your peaks. I have laughed with your moms about the things you say and cried over the years slipping away, torturing each other with Facebook memories and old snapshots of much younger versions of you all. But, most importantly, I have been able to be there. From the big holidays, birthdays, and performances to the impromptu park dates, sleepovers, and family dinners that encompass so much of every day life. You have been an extension of my own family - loved so dearly not only because I love your parents but also because you are so wonderfully and uniquely you. I have been so honored to share it all.
Except the last 10 weeks. The last 10 weeks, I have missed it all.
Of course, I have had glimpses of you during Covid. In the back of Marco Polos, in fleeting Facetimes, from the window as your mom and I exchange groceries, in proud or exasperated - depending on the day - texts from your mom.
But it hasn't been enough. Zoom calls don't capture the sweetness of watching you play, unencumbered by looming adults or technology. Relayed conversations over text message don't encapsulate the lisp you still carry or how you tilt your head when you are really trying to decide if something is believable. These Covid coping mechanisms fall so very, very short.
And I wonder how much you will have changed when I am able to see you again. When you are once again crowding my kitchen table, yelling out lunch orders, arguing over what to play next. Will you be noticeably taller? Will your vocabulary have flourished? Will you have inched a little further from baby and a little further into childhood - just enough to tug at my heart?
Of course, I can't wait to see your parents - for us to pick up where we left off, raising our families together. But you, my little love, you I especially can't wait to see. Let's just hope it is sooner rather than later - we all know that babies don't keep.
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