“Mama. Stay,” my Poppet tells me.
We’re on the trampoline, lying in the dappled light under the walnut tree. Her arms are around my neck, her nose squished to mine. This is our time. The Sprocket is at childcare and everything is moving slower and more peacefully.
I try to extricate myself again.
I still need to put the washing on the line and put another load in. The recent rains means I’m way behind.
She puts her hand out in the universal ‘stop’.
‘Stay’ is her word du jour. A few nights ago when the Sprocket had been unwell with a flash temperature, she had bitten him. For the second time. And her daddy had come over to take her into the other room so the Sprocket could cling to me in peace. And she had held up her hand "Stay, daddy."
Note to self: We really need to watch how we talk to our Issy. Maybe 'Darling dog, please plonk yourself down on your backside until we tell you to desist'?
But I remember in the shopping center this morning. I’d just ducked into the baby section to look at winter pajamas as the nights are getting chillier and my Poppet won’t sleep under covers.
And everything in the baby section was too small.
My baby is 18 months and I've lost my excuse for going into babywear.
Everything went all blurry and I pushed the Poppet out very quickly.
Of course my Poppet’s still a little baby. Sure she can walk. And talk. And climb. And draw. And is a master manipulator. But she’s still my baby.
And so I stay on the trampoline and squish my nose to hers and we point out each others noses and eyes.
Stay. Can everything just stay as it is.
My little ones are growing up too fast.
*But I wouldn’t mind if my Sprocket hurried up and got over the I-will-destroy-everything-in-sight stage just a bit quicker.