My youngest child is now three years old. He is full of curiosity and asks me to define words like God, football, and bet. Today, he told me not to skip my morning run because “you won’t step your body for all of the day or night.” and while he still clings to his diapers, he is so clearly not this baby anymore. Sigh…

I see the horizon of parenting getting easier. When we fly on an airplane, Sawyer is content to enjoy a video and I don’t need to bust out my bag of toddler airplane tricks anymore. I’m nostalgic in advance, wanting to concurrently rush through and savor each of our mutual milestones. but as we continue along this bumpy journey together, I realize that it is much harder to honor the LAST time doing something than it is the FIRST.

How evident is it the very first time you attempt breastfeeding compared to the maybe-last-but-you’re-not-totally-sure-if-he’ll-go-for-it time? The first time in a not-exactly-our-plan co-sleeping arrangement vs. the last time your toddler sneaks into your bed?

Sawyer’s adorable mispronunciations become fewer each day. When will he finally stop saying “nak-pin” instead of napkin? will I even notice?

What other lasts must I be writing in my trusty (imaginary) baby book?

The photo above is the last time Sawyer snuggled me awake and let me take a picture. That was Mother’s Day. I hope it’s not the last last!