We don’t like hard boiled eggs. They smell bad, the yoke is dry and weird tasting, and they are kind of hard to peel. So every year, we dye raw eggs. And every year, I clean up egg from the kitchen floor.
But my kids are growing. And this means they are more careful and responsible and now know that eggs roll off a flat table. So this means less broken eggs every year. And it also means that they are getting bigger. And they are not my bitty babies anymore. And most of the time, I am OK with that. I love seeing them grow up and develop into little people who make me proud.
But sometimes it reminds me of all the little baby cute stuff they did that they will never do again. Never again will they sleep with their tiny legs squished up to their chests. Never again will their whole hand snuggle tightly around my pinkie finger. Never again will they make that sucking milky face when they’re sleeping. Never again will they have that smell…that baby smell…
Sometimes I miss my broken eggs.