Time Flies

For fifteen years I’ve been sharing stories with you about my experience mothering two daughters. It started in the Free Press, a short weekly column titled: The Parent Trip, where I regaled tales of first pets, embarrassing moments on the playground, catastrophic parenting failures that ranged from leaving the Costco sized Penaten cream unsupervised to purchasing an Elf on the Shelf, and the magical bond of sisterhood. I then moved my musings to The Fix, and as I marinate in the emotional roller coaster that is “Back to School” for what might be the final time, I can’t help but look over my shoulder. Most of my columns percolate with a premature nostalgia and underlying panic that it’s all happening too quickly. Digging into the archives, I was surprised to find there was a short phase of my mothering career when I didn’t feel like time was moving at warp speed, as demonstrated by this juicy and somewhat violent excerpt from 2013: 

“A stranger is exclaiming something about time flying by as she peeks in the stroller to get a better look. I smile through gritted teeth as a savage inner voice I don’t recognize screams in my head: If you wake this baby I might actually lay down on the sidewalk and cry or hit you so hard that you will lay down on the sidewalk and cry. I can count on one hand how many hours I’ve slept in the last four days and most of my parts hurt for reasons that are too embarrassing to talk about and I worry when the baby cries and I worry when the baby doesn’t cry and so no, stranger on the street, I would not describe this time as flying by.”

This unpleasant phase was short-lived, which was lucky for the strangers who were unknowingly at risk of serious personal harm when greeting me on the street. When I reviewed the pieces I’ve written on the topic of going back to school—from the fear (theirs and mine) of the drop off, to the anxiety (theirs and mine) of the outfit choice, to the titillating thrill of having some free time again, and then back to the fear—the same themes always resonate: How precious it truly is to take this ride, and the knowledge that you can’t get used to anything with kids because inevitably they grow and things change, evidenced by the fact that my oldest is graduating this year. 

As adults, with jobs and mortgages and entire days that might feel exactly like the one before, our kids stand out as a real-time visual of the fact that time is marching its way right out the door to go grad dress shopping and apply to university and buy a red kettle for a dorm room. And we stay the same. Or at least, it feels like we do. Because maybe the closest thing to constant in our lives is ourselves. When we change, it’s usually slow, like the gentle erosion of a riverbank, and you don’t even know it was happening until you look away for a while, then find the river has taken a completely different path. Except for those big changes that tear us from our feet, uprooting everything. Those ones feel disorienting and scary, even if they’re good. (I wonder if winning the lottery is an exception here? If I ever get that lucky, I’ll follow up.) And yes, I see the big one coming up. The move outs. I know it will be disorienting and scary, but also exciting and wonderful, and I know I wouldn’t want it any other way. And so, no matter what phase you’re in right now on your parenting journey, try to marinate in it. Really soak it in. Because there’s a new one waiting just around the corner, and trust me when I tell you, time flies.