First, a seat from the table was gone.
Then items from under the cabinet.
Then actual furniture. Gone.
Footie pjs, gone.
My playroom, slowly disappearing piece by piece.
Where have all my things gone?
Booster seats replaced by chairs, filled with more than just my family, but now with my children’s friends.
Diapers, gone. Baby shampoo, gone and replaced with bars of soap and washcloths I no longer have to wield.
Changing tables, gone and replaced with full-size desks for doing schoolwork.
Toddler soft shoes with Velcro, replaced by Converse, their laces permanently tangled in an unmanageable knot, made tighter by sports, not playgrounds.
One piece pajamas, soft from years of use, gone and replaced with grown up sleepwear, free of characters.
Chewed hardback books full of colorful pictures, gone and replaced with worn chapter books, full of words but no illustrations.
Little People and Paw Patrol and coloring books and Hot Wheels gone and replaced by Legos, Nintendo, craft kits that require adult scissors and snap circuits.
And then my babies – not gone, but replaced. Replaced by actual walking, talking, thinking, grown up humans.
Cuddly little bundles, wanting to be held nonstop gone and replaced with bodies that are almost as tall as me, that no longer fit in a lap, still anxious for a hug or a kiss.
The cries for milk replaced with conversations about the world and the people living in it.
Babies’ needs, impacting only their caregivers, replaced with children who are determined to impact others.