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Soon They'll Be Walking
A Mom Grows Up
By Sharon Miller Cindrich
I was coming out of the doctor's office yesterday when I realized there was nothing in my hands. I checked my right pocket for keys, the other for a wallet and my sides for my two dawdling children who were making their own way down the corridor to the elevators.
As my 4-year-old and 2-year-old skipped down the hallway, my arms felt empty. They flopped aimlessly around my waist, unsure of how to act, what to do with themselves. My hands were free to hit the correct elevator button, hold the door open and even fish around my jacket pocket for a stick of gum. My shoulders collected themselves and straightened up, pulling the rest of my tired body along with them. I felt great ... didn't I?
For years, I had carried a newborn in the crook of my arm, an infant on my hip, a toddler on my lap. There was always someone begging to be held or rocked or carried. I'd gotten used to lumbering around with an extra 20 pounds of wriggling on my shoulders in the park, crawling up my arm as I tried to write a check for groceries or around my neck when a strange dog neared us. Just moments before, as the doctor checked ears and throats, I had soothed them both in the safety of my hug. But right now, my arms were empty.
Part of me immediately panicked for another child – I was just getting the hang of making lasagna with a baby on one hip and a toddler hanging from my shirt. I was almost used to weeding the garden with two kids playing horsy on my back. Another part of me sighed in the relief of the moment, a moment I often prayed for in attempts to get the laundry folded or the lawn cut or anything done before a tiny pair o
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