One day I will miss posies picked by little hands, and loving placed in empty salt jars.
One day I will receive my last bundle of dandelions or wildflowers given with as much love, if not more, than any gloriously packaged bouquet.
One day I will miss cuddles from my babies where I can breathe in their hair and shut my eyes and feel utter love.
One day will be the last day that my son will climb up on my back while I lay reading, like a gangly limbed koala.
One day I will miss looking down to my kids’ upturned faces.
One day I will not see them rolling their eyes when I ask “who do I love?” fifteen times a day.
But not yet.
Please, just a little longer.