I don't want these things to become the new norm

When you're no longer reliant on the palm of my hand to keep your head up,
When you're no longer babbling the language of babes or smiling toothlessly,
When the breast is too little and the food is too soft,
I don't want these things to become the new norm.

When your first word is your last word and I'm finally Da,
When you first use a spoon instead of spreading your food across the kitchen floor,
When you stop painting the table with yoghurt,
I don't want these things to become the new norm.

When you no longer wake us in the middle of the night,
When you stop taking anything to chew on even though it's covered in germs,
When you stop falling over for no reason at all,
I don't want these things to become the new norm.

When we dispense with the harness and first walk hand-in-hand,
When you stop running too far or standing your ground with a frown on your face,
When the puddles are no longer pulling you in,
I don't want these things to become the new norm.

When you no longer cry at the playschool's door,
When you're too tired after for the swings and the slide,
When you stop wanting everything for dinner yet eating nothing you're given,
I don't want these things to become the new norm.

When you stop asking for Paw Patrol and find it yourself,
When you stop watching me game and take the controller away,
When you no longer want a bedtime story,
I don't want these things to become the new norm.

When the excuses to keep getting out of your bed turn to instant sleep instead,
When you finally learn how to button your shirt for school,
When you roll up your tights on your own and find your foot in the correct shoe,
I don't want these things to become the new norm.

When you fall and rise up on your own,
I don't want this thing to become the new norm,
But that's me, and I'm selfish, so you be you and stand up,
And I'll pocket these things you'll never know, until you know.