One of my favorite memories from when my kids were small is them falling asleep on my chest. Warm little heads nestled up under my chin, bodies gently rising and falling with my breath, and little feet not even reaching my belt.

Sharaun has a picture I adore of Cohen napping on me this way, me prone on the airport terminal carpet, during a long layover. He’s sucking his two fingers like he used to do and he has that whispy baby-white blonde hair.

Last night Keaton cuddled up with me while we watched a movie. As tall as her mom now, dad’s chest has long ceased being an option for comfy naps. Holding her hand, I took a moment to consider its size… pushing that of a full-grown adult. I felt the prickle of stubble on her legs, the clasp on her bra pressing into my arm around her back.

When did this happen? How did this happen? It’s going to keep happening, isn’t it? Is it always going to be this fast?

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