Bring It On

Two or three days ago I got an email from a friend to which were attached several pictures of her son's 7th Birthday party. I could hardly look at the pictures themselves because my mind was preoccupied with the fact that this little boy is only 8 months older than my J.

The logical me knows that J was born nine months after we got married; the emotional me locked it away in a seldom-seen dark corner of my mind and then threw away the key.

When he was about to be five I had a similar feeling. I wrote it off as five just being a milestone age. Six rolled around and I was okay. Maybe a little anxiety about climbing up and over the milestone hill. Nothing too dramatic. But seven just seems like such a big-boy age. Seven year olds are rambunctious and sneaky. My J is gentle and sweet and he still waves to me as he's walking towards the waiting school bus outside our door.

How did this happen? When did it happen? Oh, the questions swirling 'round. Did I do enough? Why did I so often whisk him off to sleep a couple of minutes early or not read the book yet another time just so that I could have a few moments to myself? Why did I tune him out when he babbled insistently about things that only live in the heads of little ones? And why am I only asking myself these questions now that the babble has turned into somewhat-intelligent chatter?

When I was a new parent somebody told me that when it came to raising a child, "the days are long, but the years are short." Words of wisdom indeed.

If there's any consolation in all of this it's that I don't remember a whole lot about anything that occurred before the age of six and that even if I had read that book from sun up to sun down, he wouldn't remember and I would still be asking the same questions.

As the years get shorter and shorter, I'd give anything to get one of those long, long days back. I wouldn't complain. I'd keep my ears and my eyes open. I'd hug him and kiss him and play and read to him until the very minute bedtime rolled around. And then I'd get up and do it all over again tomorrow.

In the real world, tomorrow I'll get up and there will be laundry to do, dishes to wash, groceries to be bought, and food to be cooked all sandwiched into small windows of time before getting him off to school, M napped, and running to the bus stop to pick him up again. The truth is, the days are long, but they're busy. I'm looking forward to summer when we'll have 2-plus months all to ourselves with no time constraints or schedules. And if there's any truth to the above saying, then having a toddler around will really stretch them out -- borrowed time in a way -- but time nonetheless. Time before he goes off to school full time and the windows that so controlled the course of my day will be blown wide open.

Time to enjoy the little boy that's before me now so that three, seven, ten or twenty, maybe even thirty or forty years from now I won't be asking myself the same questions. Yet I know I will. With him and with M, the questions will continue, but if it keeps me on my toes to constantly strive to be the best mommy I can be, then bring it on!