Gather ’round everyone. It’s going to be hard to follow “choregasms” and “choreplay” so I am going to take it in a different direction. I’m going to bring it down a little, be a little honest, make it a little real, yo.
Parenting isn’t all organic food and hand-made toys, nor is it all bitter resentment and surreptitious wine gobbling when no one is looking. It’s moments. Snapshots in time that age and mellow as time passes. Things today that make us want to cry, scream, or pretend we don’t even HAVE kids, will not even be remembered as we watch our grown children pack up their things and move out on their own.
Watching my son lately puts me in a reflective mood. He’s my baby, but a baby no longer. Gone are the chubby legs, rounded belly and chubby cheeks of toddlerhood. At the age of (almost) 6 years old, he has ceased to be my baby, and has become a “kid.” A “big boy.” It’s a bittersweet realization. I watch him ride his bike or scooter, strong legs working, forehead furrowed in concentration, and I miss those days of being able to tuck him into the crook of my arm, or stuff him into a Baby Bjorn. I wonder where the time has gone. It seems like I didn’t have enough time with any of my kids as babies. It seems like each stage of babyhood, then toddlerhood, was spent trying to get to the NEXT stage, rather than in the moment.
At 9 months of pregnancy, you just want the baby to be born. Once baby is born, you can’t wait for them to sleep for more than an hour at a clip. You want them to be able to hold their heads up, to be able to support some of their own weight, to roll, raise their heads, sit up without help, hold their own bottle. ANYTHING to make your job a little easier.
Then you wonder when they’ll stop eating every 2 hours, when you can start feeding them solid foods so they stay fuller longer, and when will they sleep for more than 4 hours at a clip? And so it goes.
I look back now, and feel cheated somehow. Like I missed something. Like I was so busy looking forward, I couldn’t see what was going on right in front of me. Time seems to speed up once you have kids. Where I once measured the passage of time by MY age, MY experiences and achievements, I now measure it by my children. My oldest is 9 ½. Shit. There’s ten years that flew by. In 8 years, she’ll be graduating from high school, going to college. 8… years.
Sometimes, it just doesn’t feel like there is enough time. Enough time for them to be kids. Enough time for me to ENJOY them as kids. Enough time to hug them, snuggle with them, be silly with them.
Look, I’m not trying to blow smoke up your collective arse. There are days when I WISH it was 13 years from now, and I could have my life back. Ok, actually there are days I wish it was 13 years AGO, and I had my life and my BODY back. But I love my kids, God damn it. And I just wish I could have them as kids a little while longer.