Some scary math...

So, the Big Boy is 3 1/2 today.
I discovered this, not because I am obsessed with his exact age but because he is obsessed with birthdays.
I mean, ob.sessed.
It's kind of cute.

This morning he announced it was his birthday. Again. Still. According to him, everyday is his birthday. Which, if you think about it, is not a bad way to live. Sure, you'll age a lot faster that way but you'll also eat more cake, open more presents, and blowing out all those candles would be good for your respiratory system (there. A little A&P for you. Enjoy.). Not such a bad life.
Anyway.
When asked how old he was today, he answered, as he always does, "Free!" I prompted, "How old will you be on your NEXT birthday?" "Free!" Ok, well, since every day is your birthday, I'll give you that. Touche. But I was looking for more a slightly more accurate accounting, so I asked him what comes after three... "FOUR!" Ok, phew. He hasn't lost his ability to count. I worry.

But our little exchange prompted me to think about what day it is and how old he actually is. Well, today he is exactly three and a half. Tomorrow he will wake up closer to 4 than to 3. That's depressing. And exciting. I love watching him grow. In Big Boy Birthdays, he's gone from requiring a cake, to a cake and balloons. To a cake, balloons, and presents. To cake, balloons, presents, and candles. To cake, balloons, presents, candles, and friends. You get the point. Now, daily parties require: a red cake with sprinkles and the letters for his name; 6 balloons--one for each color of the rainbow, as well as, a giant "3" balloon; friends, including, but no limited to: Nathan (his imaginary friend), Nathan's mommy, Nathan's baby (Nathan also has a younger sibling), all of mommy's friends (generous kid, no?), Grandma, Pop Pop, and a list of cousins longer than my arm; also, we need candles that "light up!"; and present that is in a square box and wrapped with red paper with balloons on it. Inside is often another cake. What can I say? Child has quite the imagination. But it's fun. It makes a momma happy. I love watching him grow.

And I hate it.
He grows bigger, smarter, cuter, funnier, and OLDER every day. Every day is one day closer to the day he won't need me anymore. It's bittersweet.

And while he approaches 4, his sister approaches 1. Chica Love will be 5 months tomorrow. My littlest miracle is growing up as fast as her brother. Maybe faster. She sits. Holds her own bottle. Jabbers constantly (genetics? Surely you jest...). She's trying like heck to move as fast as her brother (a feat she will have to accept is unlikely to ever happen...at least not if God loves me.) And, in perhaps the straight up cutest thing ever, she has begun to realize that just because she can't see momma doesn't mean momma isn't around. Same applies to her big brother--she is fairly certain the sun rises and sets on him and is at her happiest when he is not only in ear shot, but in her eye line.

I love my kids. More than I can say.
I'm a bit afraid to love my kids.
What would I do without them? I think they, and they alone, provide the oxygen I breathe. They're young, yes, but somehow they've always been with me. That's some crazy physics for you, huh? But it's true. And even as I write this, I know, I know, I can't let them be all that there is to me. Someday, they will not need me in the way they do now. Some day, hopefully some day in the way way way way distant future, the best thing I will do for them will be to let them go. As painful as that will be...I will have to.

And so, I do some scary math.
I will finish the preliminary part of this degree in a year.
Then two years for the pre-med program
Then four years of med school.
An intern year.
Four years of residency.

My big boy will be 15.
My chica love will be 12.
They will be almost grown and I wonder how much I'll have missed. How many soccer games, recitals, school plays, and birthday parties will I miss? How many firsts will not be mine to witness. Will I be there when the Chica Love has her heart broken the first time? Will I witness the Big Boy's first home run hit? I don't know. I want to be. I don't know how I can do it all. But some day they'll be gone.
Then what?

As much as they are me, as much as they are the very oxygen I breathe, I know it's not fair to them. I know they will miss me. I know they'll need me sometimes when I can't be there. But I hope, I pray, in the end, it's worth it. I just plug along and pray.

And I should probably stop doing math. Or maybe stick to calculus or whatever uses imaginary numbers. They're far more forgiving.