The Speed of Life

I’m pretty sure time goes slower at different points in your life.  Maybe it’s like dog years.  We should come up with some kind of equation to measure it.  I think one day in middle school equals one week of vacation at the beach.  This was especially frustrating for me as a new mom. Seriously, with my first child I was pretty sure he was never going to figure out how to dress himself.  It seemed like I spent an absolute eternity pushing tiny wiggly arms through tight pajama sleeves.  I could. not. wait. for him to accomplish each little developmental milestone in part because I needed to know I was parenting right (which, I guess is only clearly observable if your child is hitting milestones on time. . . ) and in part because everything seemed to be going SO SLOW.  Each day I would wake up to see he was still 100% dependent on me to meet all his needs and each day it felt so draining.

And then we got another one.  And this little guy felt no compulsion to meet milestones on time.  And I didn’t care quite so much.  I forgot to put toys slightly out of reach so maybe he’d try crawling.  Sometimes I held him all through his nap because he was just too snuggly to put in the crib.  This time I remembered to take video of even the dumbest stuff because I knew someday he wouldn’t kick his feet like that when he laughed or eat his applesauce with his hands (I’m still kind of waiting on him to outgrow that one) or hold his hand on my chest while I fed him his bottle.  I was beginning to realize how fleeting and precious those little moments are.

And then we got another one.  I’d like to say I became even more aware of treasuring each moment, but I’m going to be honest instead.  Three kids when the oldest is three years-old?  Ridiculous.  My second and third children are not biologically related (thank you, adoption from foster care) and just ten months apart, so adding a five month-old to the family when her “big” brother was just 14 months (and not walking yet) was a test of our sanity.  Or maybe we failed that test when we said yes.  But they told us it would probably just be for six weeks.  Six months at the longest.  Of course we could handle that kind of craziness if it was just for six weeks!  And 17 months later we adopted her.

At that point I kind of wanted to pull the hair of the nice old grocery store ladies who said, “Treasure every moment.”  I wanted to say, “You mean the moments where one of them poops on the floor and the other one tracks it through the house, or were you referring to the moments where I’m trying to make dinner and they’re all crying on the floor for me to pick them up at the same time?”  And whoever says “the dishes can wait” clearly did not need to wash bottles and sippy cups and tiny silverware so her kids could eat again in the morning.

I loved our life, but it was stressful.  I was thrilled when our daughter learned to walk.  I didn’t shed a tear when she traded the bottle for the sippy cup or the crib for the toddler bed.  I needed her to grow up a little and she did.  I’m pretty sure my daughter could have been raised by wolves and probably turned out fine, she is just that good of a little girl, which was exactly what our family needed.

And then we had another one.  And time seems to be flying.  In just a week he will be celebrating his first birthday and I absolutely can’t fathom where that year went.  He slept through the night before I was even ready to go that many hours without seeing him.  He learned to crawl in spite of the fact that I’m not sure his feet touched the floor for more than ten minutes at a time through the first eight months of his life.  He only wants to feed himself although I keep trying to help him.

As I pack away the tiny baby clothes and wonder if there are more children in our future- biological, adopted, or the little temporary kind- I also wonder if time will ever slow down again.  In my heart I know it will and I’m dreading it.  I can imagine the slowness of the hours between their phone calls home from college or between their visits to bring the grandkids to see us.  I know I’ll have plenty of time for dishes then.  Maybe the house will finally be clean and STAY clean for more than ten minutes at a stretch.  I might even have time to finally do their baby books or organize their pictures.

So as much as I avoid telling a frazzled mom to treasure every moment, I do tell it to myself.  I want my kids to remember the sound of my laugh and not just the sight of my back at the sink.  I don’t want to spend their childhoods just doing things FOR them and not spending enough time WITH them.  And I don’t want to waste time feeling guilty either about the time I have to spend caring for their physical needs or about the time I spend relationally investing and avoiding housework.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned- life is too short and goes by too quickly.