The day will come when my home won't be littered with random misplaced items carried to and fro by toddler and preschooler hands. When I don't find toy phones in my bed, I don't trip over dump trucks left in the middle of the floor, and when things I need can be found where I left them after the last time I used them.
The day will come when I won't be required as an audience for my daughter as she does her business in the bathroom. When she won't require me to wipe her rear. When she can button or snap her own pants when she is done.
The day will come when my son is potty trained, though obviously not at 22 months as my daughter was. When there will be no more silliness and teasing and tickling on the changing table.
The day will come when Dear Son won't require me to "hold ya's!" as I try to prepare breakfast, talk on the phone, or brush my teeth, or do just about ANYTHING before deciding that I can get NOTHING else done as long I have to "hold ya's!"
The day will come when my full and undivided attention is not required for every waking moment of my children's little lives. When I can complete a phone conversation without interruptions. When I can type an email in one sitting. When I can watch what I want to watch on television.
The day will come when my kitchen floor is not littered with dried up chunks of Play-Doh, a few old macaroni noodles, and that sticky juice stain that has been collecting sock lint for the past week.
The day will come when bedtime for my daughter doesn't require thirty minutes of stories followed by thirty minutes of "snuggling" in the dark under the covers before she will go to sleep. When my son goes to his bed without stalling for 45 minutes with excuses like wanting Mommy, then wanting Daddy, then wanting Mommy, then wanting Daddy...followed by insisting he is "poopy" (of course he's not), that he needs juice, etc.
The day will come when everything is in its place and my home is back to its childless, neat-as-pin old self. When the toys are no longer in my bed or left in the middle of the floor because they've long since been packed up, sold, or donated. When I won't have anyone to blame but myself for not being able to find some random thing.
The day will come when my daughter doesn't want my audience, for ANYTHING, because she's at that awkward stage where it's not cool to need your parents, and I will wish with all my heart for her to want my attention.
The day will come when my son will be too big to hold in my arms as I attempt random tasks about the house, and I will ache to hold him in my arms again--even if that means I don't get another thing done all day long.
The day will come when I will miss being needed even if that means I can complete my phone calls, my email messages, my anything.
The day will come when my floor is clean, but my kitchen is lonely, and I will long for the giggles and laughter and squirming that happened at the table even if it meant that food got spilled.
The day will come when I'm no longer needed for bedtime rituals--for stories or snuggling, and despite that resulting in time for me to read my own stacks of neglected books, I will miss burrowing in the blankets with the wee ones and reading Dr. Seuss instead.
The day will come, and it will be a sad day.