Take those early years slow.
Tomorrow my tiny little human goes to school. It feels like she's off into the world now. Out of the nest and flying about.
Her teacher sent home a letter filled with confetti and a poem about the night before school. I know it was to help ease her little worries, and I'm sure it did, but made me cry. It made me realise, really, deeply, and fundamentally, realise just how quickly those early years go. They seem so hard and long and sleepless and endless when you're in the thick of it.
And then they're gone.
They are gone now.
I spent so much time waiting for the next thing. Waiting for when she would sit up, walk, or say her first word (it was dog). I missed it happening. I missed the most beautiful thing happening right in front of my eyes.
At least it feels that way. Maybe those memories are all locked, waiting to be unlocked again.