Hanna asked me this morning if I would pick her up out of her bed and carry her to the family room.

It’s not that I don’t want to pick up my nine year old child who will very soon be taller than I am, it’s that if I haven’t done my burpees, I fear I might pull something.

It’s one of those questions I really hate saying no to.

Nothing would make me happier than carrying my child, still asking to be carried, the way I first did almost ten years ago when she was a newborn.

While I love the fact I treasured every moment I was able to cradle her in my arms back then, I know the time will soon come she will no longer ask or, I’ll no longer be physically able to lift her, with or without my strict yearly daily burpee regimen.

I considered throwing her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry but where’s the love in that? I compromised and offered her a piggy back ride knowing the massage I would attempt to give myself after she got on the school bus would be worth knowing today I could mark off on the calendar “Hanna still not too old to be carried by her Mom.”

Hanna talked to me about how some of the kids in her class get picked up at lunch time to go out for lunch with one or both of their parents and asked if we could do that sometime too. Why not today?

I was kicking myself for not thinking of the idea myself, though the burpees kept my knee from being able to make a full bend. Such a simple idea, so easy to execute, why did it take us so long to think of it?

When she got on the school bus, she was beaming. I knew she couldn’t wait to get to school and tell her friends she was going out for lunch with her Mom for the best reason of all. None.

Hanna: Will you remember to pick me up?

I’ll never forget.