These wild, feral kids who run around in their bloomers

These wild, feral kids who run around in their bloomers. . .
I miss them being little sometimes. . .not often. It was hell on earth more often than not, actually, when they were tiny guys.
I joke sometimes about how some women would have turned them into the local fire station. Except, I am not joking.
I wasn't really mommy material, but I sigh a bit sadly when I think about the last day they will call me, "Mommy," moving on to the more grown up version, Mom, Like my oldest did at least 8 years ago or more.
They cried all night and day for years when little babies and toddlers. They didn't start sleeping through until they were 3 or 4 (years old). It was touch and go just keeping them alive on this active farm full of goats, horses, dogs and cattle.
These guys have grown up on raw milk, being barefoot in manure and maybe riding forward facing way before 2 in their carseats.
They made it through infancy sleeping in bed with us smooshed all together, being packed around in slings during horse rescue and slipping out to mingle with the herds when they shouldn't have or riding ponies in those said bloomers in the rain.
They are subject to me as their teacher. . .the teacher of sounds, numbers (a scary thought) and where we came from as people in this world. They have to put clothes on sometimes and go out in the public, and they opt to say things like, "Jesus Saved the whole World" and "My mommy saves horses. Maybe she needs a job that pays money, but she tells, "No'" or "When I grow up, I am going to have Pug rescue, for sure. You have to rescue something, right?"
I cannot imagine doing all that led up to where they are again. When I see pregnancy posts and new birth posts, I usually grimace, but. . .in the end, in the over 15 years of motherhood I've logged, no matter what I do, I know they will always be the greatest accomplishment of my life. I'll always be thankful they were mine.
And I'll always be thrilled I gave in for those next 2 for the farming fellow's sake. Yet, I'll be especially glad I called it a day at three.