It begins early, the motion. Starting with those involuntary little flips and kicks in the womb. Then, as a tiny newborn, those little limbs stretch and curl, uncontrollable. The first little arches of the back, the shock in your eyes when you roll over for the first time. You discover your hands, how they move and grasp. You pull so hard and rock back and forth on your knees, so close. But then one day, I blink, and you’re moving. No longer where I set you down. That motion rarely ceases, just these little blips of stillness, calm. It’s just the beginning of the years racing by, until I look up one day and realize you won’t need me as much. In this season of littles, of constant neediness, it’s easy to forget just how much I’m going to miss that someday. The days seem to drag sometimes, but the months, the years, they just keep marching by.