Mr D turned four a few weeks ago.  And this happy occasion nudged me into thinking about how much of his childhood I’ve spent looking forward to the next step.  Once he starts walking/stops napping/starts talking/stops using diapers/starts school/stops needing so much attention…………

But somewhere along the way things changed.  Right now I would do just about anything to slow this train the fuck down.  Right now I wouldn’t hesitate to hit the pause button.

It’s not that I’m judging my former self.  She was struggling to get by during what is a very challenging time.  It’s that without much notice the hard work of parenting let up just enough to allow me to access a little secret.  Somewhere in the rhythms of lunch-making and drop-offs, the early-morning music jams and late-afternoon lego sessions, I became aware that my kids are thriving. Right now. And right now I don’t really have to focus on what they might become someday or the far more terrifying question of what the world might offer them.

A walk around the perimeter of they grow up so fast can only lead you to the more difficult truths. You never know what the future holds. And most importantly, life is short.  The path forward is equal parts excitement and terror. But the secret is right there next to the the weeds poking through amid the new sprouts and the endless piles of dirty dinner dishes.

This is it.

And it is enough.


2 thoughts on “Four…………ever??

  1. Ah yes, I remember that. It’s ok tho’, now you have realised life slows right down and you will get a chance to savour all those special moments. Just remember to keep that train real slow!

  2. Ah, so beautiful. I think reading what you write has helped me hit the slow mo button, at least. It’s true that I don’t always want to live through the NOOOOOOOOOOOO! EEEEEEEEEE! BUNLET TOOK THE PENCIL AND THAT WAS MYYYYYYYYY PENCIL! in slow mo, or even in fast forward, but the shrieking and squabbling is part of thriving, too. That is one beautiful child. I can see how you’d want to keep him in the now.

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