The Last Time...

 

As you know, I've been on a big kick about slowing down, trying to savor the little moments, and hating how fast time is going. I feel like I've done a pretty good job at remembering firsts by writing them down or taking pictures of them, but I hate to think about all the "lasts" I have missed. I recently read a post somewhere about moments like these, and can't stop thinking about last times. When I was pregnant with Lily (above), I kept trying so hard to remember the incredible feeling of kicks and bumps and hiccups inside me, knowing this really could be the last time to ever feel something so amazing. 

When was the last time my dad gave me a piggy back ride? I think it was in Belgium at the DouDou Festival, but I'm not sure.

When was the last time I nursed Cooper? I made a point to remember with Lily since it only lasted five months with her. 

When was the last time I held my mom's hand?  Cooper grabs mine all the time. I hate to think of when he will outgrow wanting to hold my hand.

When was the last time my mom sang me to sleep and tickled my back?

When was the last time I slept with  my sister and played "I spy" in the dark? 

When was the last time my sisters and I went skinny dipping all together up at the lake? 

When was the last time Frank and I went camping and stayed up late with wine talking about our favorite things in life? 

When was the last time my grandpa gave me a huge bear hug and called me manda panda? 

At least with some of these, they aren't truly lasts. I can do some of these again, a finite number of times.  Hate the ones that are gone forever. 

Shoot. Sure wish I could do my morning over. I wasn't as nice as I should have been. And my mornings are finite.

Doesn't thinking about all this make you really want to make each moment count? Send out a billion love notes and thank you notes to family? Give a zillion more hugs and kisses and hold hands all over the place? Life is short. Make every moment count because they are numbered.