My daughter sits on the glossy bench, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. I sense her anxiety. She is eager to get a second ear piercing for her 17th birthday, but needles are not her favorite. She independently called the tattoo parlor to confirm they pierce minors.
Watching her in that moment transports me back to her 8th birthday when she received her first ear piercing. She was just as apprehensive then. We wandered the mall, allowing her to muster the courage, and I offered numerous reassurances, reminding her that she didn’t have to proceed if she wasn’t ready. It took a while before she allowed them to bring out the piercing gun.
This time, it’s a hollow needle. She’s taken charge of the process, from research to phone calls. Despite her nerves, she took a seat right away. Aside from signing the consent form because she’s still a minor, she’s managing this experience largely on her own.
The stark difference between my little girl and this emerging young woman hits me hard. The reality that in just one year, I may no longer be needed in moments like this fills me with a familiar panic.
I’m running out of time.
When we become parents, adulthood seems distant. And it truly is — a long, challenging, yet wonderful journey from their arrival to their departure from our home. I’ve felt every moment of those 17 years, yet sometimes it feels like I blinked, and here we are.
None of this should surprise me. I know how time works. I know she ages each year, just like every other child. But she’s not just any child — she’s my daughter. I’m not just a parent; I’m her only mother, and I crave more time to perfect this role.
Reflecting on my aspirations when she was younger, I realize how many dreams I had about the type of mother I would be and the wonderful activities we would share. Those years of thinking I had time to fulfill those dreams have nearly passed. Overall, I believe I’ve done a decent job, but I wonder if it’s enough.
As her birthday approaches, the ticking clock echoes in my mind. Have I given her all she needed? Have I nurtured her talents and empowered her to explore? Will our bond be strong enough for her to want to return home?
A part of me feels accomplished, while another feels like I could have done more. I’m torn between sadness for her growing up and joy for her accomplishments. Part of me longs to relive those moments, but another part wouldn’t trade the journey for anything.
What strikes me most is the urgent need to cherish these years while they last. I’m not saying every moment will be enjoyable; motherhood can be incredibly exhausting. But the years? They fly by. We have a single chance at our children’s childhoods.
So perhaps we should prioritize the truly important moments more often. Let’s push through our fatigue when our teens want late-night conversations instead of rushing them to bed. Let’s plan more one-on-one outings, create more opportunities to play, read, and travel together as a family before we find our unit drifting apart.
We must seize these years while they are still in our grasp, for soon they might slip away. Hold onto them tightly, and make the most of the time we have while they are still kids. Don’t wait until you’re faced with a fully grown version of your child, questioning where the time went and how it all disappeared so rapidly.
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Summary
This article underscores the importance of cherishing the fleeting years of childhood. It captures the bittersweet emotions of a parent as they witness their child’s growth and the urgency to create meaningful moments together. By prioritizing quality time, families can strengthen their bonds before children grow up and leave home.