My baby, Yakir, is a crazy man. Truly.

And I say that with the experience of raising six boys and of dealing with lots of craziness. But this kid? Well, he seems to take the cake, and then stand on top of it, dancing. As I often say, Hashem either has quite a sense of humor, or thinks I’m far more energetic than I am.

With that said, there is one time during the day when he stops. When I bring him to bed at night, I’ve found that I can actually snuggle with him for a few quiet minutes after he finishes his bottle and before I put him in his crib.

Pure bliss.

So, last night, it was a very strange dichotomy for me. I was cuddling with Yakir and relishing in these snuggly, delicious moments, when I caught Matan out of the corner of my eye. I could see him in the hallway with his long, lanky body, his impish grin and his playful enjoyment as he kicked our punching bag around.

It was the strangest feeling to sit there, cuddling with the tender, delicious little man that Yakir is, while looking up at what Yakir will someday be. Looking at Matan and admiring the blossoming too-soon-to-be-teenager, I couldn’t help but think of the boy in my arms as him. And I sat there cuddling the him of years-gone-by and watching the him of today, and thinking with absolute wonder about the fleeting passage of time.

It’s so hard, at times, to cherish each moment. There is so much chaos, so much to do, so many lunches to make and items of clothing to wash; and yet, in a moment like this one, I’m reminded of what really matters; and of how quickly the baby in my arms will become the soon-to-be 12 year old boy standing before me with all of the independence and confidence he can muster.

And I wrapped my arms around Yakir just a little bit tighter, and let the laundry wait for a moment longer than usual.