You're Gonna Miss This

Birdie Brigade, settle in for one of those ruminating and reflective posts Julie likes to do now and again.  Julie has been racing, racing, racing the past few weeks, and so she feels like there's barely been time to stop and think and feel all that's been happening, like Birdie turning two.  It is both exciting and bittersweet to see her grow up.  It was--and is--the same swirl of emotions watching Joe grow up, but when Joe was the age Clara is now, the possibility of another little nugget had just been realized with her arrival.  There is no such possibility about to materialize now which makes one a little more wistful about these days.

There is this, Julie thinks, as consolation: Clara is sweet, and earthy, by nature.  She likes to cuddle, and be cuddled, and is very direct and uncomplicated about it all.  Birdie sometimes takes Julie's hand and  clasps it to her--Birdie's--tummy, just so, or cups Julie's hand to her cheek, or around her knee.  Julie feels like Birdie could never get enough of being cradled and held.

So there all that, which stands side by side with things like a child, tucked in a half hour or more, who suddenly begin wailing because he has "no animals" in his bed, despite the obvious presence of two, which means you must go track down some others because they have escaped from the basket across the room, and upon your return with them, the other child begins wailing because if her brother is going have more animals, then by gosh, she is, too, despite the presence of the following in her crib (working clockwise round the perimeter): Cat, Gorilla, Giraffe, Pink Bear, Baby Doll 1, Baby Doll 2, Baby Doll 3, Pink Dog,  My Purple Pillow Pet, and Dog.  That's 10--10, in case you lost count, Fans.  (In addition to a cuddler, Our Clara Jane is also a bit of a hoarder.)

Anyway.  Today, in the car on the way home, Julie happened to hear the Trace Adkins song You're Gonna Miss This, and Brigade, as the country music fans among you know, there is nothing like a country song to set you to blubbering about time rushing on, even as you plod along in rush hour.

You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these times hadn't gone by so fast


These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this

Word, Trace, word.