If there was something I learned from Disney’s “Inside Out,” it’s that emotions are complicated and that sometimes, our greatest joys come after or alongside sorrow. We laugh through tears and smile through pain.

One of my absolute f-a-v-o-r-i-t-e weekend activities is snuggling with Eleanor. She promises me that she’ll do it all her life, but I have my doubts, so I take every opportunity to do it now. I love that we share little stories, tickles and laughs beneath the warmth of a blanket and in soft, dreamy light. She relates funny tales of her most recent school adventure, or slips into a dissertation on why the Frozen lip balm (just “lips” in our house) is the best one. Her giggles and smiles are genuine and rip my heart open wide.

This morning, as I thought about the weight of her precious little head on my arm and how she tucks up next to my body perfectly, I was reminded that time can be a cruel thief. I’ve often asked her if she wants to and will stay a my little girl forever. She has always giggled and said she can’t, and that she wants to grow. With both kids, we’ve also talked a lot over the years at dinner and bed time about how growing is accomplished by eating healthy foods and getting plenty of sleep.

So after further discussion about how babies are born (she has very little interest in the pain associated with this process), what she wants to be when she grows up (a kindergarten teacher), and what college will be like (you can about image how fun these topics are for a mom who already doesn’t want time to go so fast), and how much she’ll miss having someone to hug when she lives on her own, I asked her if she would be interested in staying little. She nodded, yes, and a few seconds later, got very still and looked devastated, almost crying.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” I asked.

“I’m going to be STARVING and SO TIRED… it’s gonna be awful,” she replied. Despite not having that conversation today, she “knew” what staying little meant; it meant no growing, no food to feed her body, no sleep to allow time for growth. It broke.my.heart. that she, at five years old, understood sacrifice like that and yet, was considering it for the sake of someone else.

I quickly hugged her tighter (our snuggling is one, extended hug), and told her that I loved her and no starving or sleep deprivation would be happening in this house. I told her I wanted her to keep growing and learning, and that every age she is will be my favorite. And it will. And then I died a little inside.

To avoid her seeing me cry, and having her think I was lying, I started to run my finger along her face. She closed her eyes and I took in her perfect complexion, so soft, smooth… and hair-free (enjoy that part, you have my DNA and it won’t last). I traced her little nose, forehead, lips, cheeks and chin for several minutes. I felt her breath on my hand and tried to memorize her profile. I closed my eyes, too, and told myself to remember how this feels. The knowledge that the last time will happen and I won’t know it’s the last time until much later tears me apart inside.

When I’d regained some composure, I grabbed her hand in mine and studied how small and delicate it is. I looked at her nails… the ones I paint and she picks it off within a day… and the little lines in her skin where her knuckles bend, and admired the sheer softness of her skin. Her had was warm, she lined up her fingers to intertwine them with mine and I squeezed her hand three times, she squeezed mine back.

I kissed her and nuzzled her like it was the last time. I think I’ll just pretend each time is the last, that will make it sweeter.