Hands Full

In our family (most families do it I think) we have paired up our kids to make the whole "family of 7" thing feel more manageable.  Rather than naming them all, often we'll refer to the "brownies" - my first and second born child who both have brown hair and brownish skin.  Then we have the "blondies" - my third and fourth born who are very fair and blond.  Next come "the girls" who are the girliest pair in our home and hate being called the little kids.  The older girls don't mind when I refer to these two as "THE girls" - at least they haven't told me so.

And then.  There at the bottom.  The one that got away.  We have THE baby.  THE Noah.  THE boy.  Also lovingly referred to (as all the others were at this age) as IT.  "Please get it a drink", "who wants to change it?" and "find out why it's crying".  In our home this is a term of endearment - I promise.  

So - what does "boy your hands must be full" look like these days?  Well - usually it looks like this.  While none of my babies are too big yet to sit on my lap or cuddle with me occasionally, these three are almost always there, and in my head a chant the phrase, "let it last, let it last, let it last" because if there's one thing I've learned as a mother these last 12 years - it wont.  And I'll miss it.