They take off before I can even manage a proper goodbye or wish them a good day. Their little heads bob through the throngs of children and parents. Just before they blend into the sea of kids pouring through the school entrance, I catch sight of them grasping each other’s hands. They don’t wait for the other to make the first move; it’s simultaneous, and then they vanish.
For a moment, I stand on my tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of their dark hair or bright backpacks. If only I could see even a slice of them before they fade from view, I could send one last good wish along with an invisible hug as they embark on their day. But it’s futile; too many kids are in the way.
I often find myself wishing these fleeting moments could linger just a tad longer, yet it feels impossible against the whirlwind energy of my two boys. Even during their bickering and whining, as they express every bit of their childlike selves, I crave for time to slow down.
In these instances, I witness my children deep in the journey of becoming their own individuals, navigating their way through life, asking questions, and honing their internal navigational systems. It’s akin to drawing, where lines and smudges gradually transform into three-dimensional figures on the page. My kids are evolving into more defined versions of themselves.
Prior to this, there were countless moments I wished to fast forward through—endless cycles of diaper changes, feedings, and sleepless nights on repeat. While everyone around me seemed eager to freeze those adorable baby phases, I was petrified that I would be completely consumed by my little ones, buried under the endless folds of chubby cheeks and soft necks.
Growing up, I never played with dolls. Stuffed animals were my thing, but not dolls, and I never took care of my plush friends either. I was terrified of my firstborn. Whenever I could free myself from his clutches, I would bolt out of the apartment, bursting through the front door, reeking of sour milk. It didn’t matter where I went; I just needed to escape my home. But with each tick of the clock, the seconds until I had to return felt like bricks piling onto my chest. Some days, I fantasized about walking away without a glance back.
When my son was just 16 months old, my husband left for a business trip. A few hours after he departed in his sleek black car, the weight of my son’s clinginess and my own anxiety became suffocating. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to jump out of my skin. I carried my son to his crib, shut the door, and grabbed my phone.
“I can’t stand this,” were the first words I uttered when my husband answered. “I can’t do this! He won’t stop crying; he’s driving me insane. I’m done!” The words were hot and painful, yet they rang true. “If he doesn’t quiet down, I honestly don’t know what I’ll do.”
After we hung up, my husband caught the next flight home.
During those times, I had no desire to pause. I was desperate to rush through those stages for my own sanity and for the sake of my family. Perhaps I needed to hasten through those days to reach this point where I felt less like I was merely playing a role of a mother, and the anxiety didn’t hit me like a bitter aftertaste. Now, I consciously resist the urge to rush forward, cherishing these moments for both myself and my children.
At school pickup, I spot my kids emerging from the crowd just as swiftly as they disappeared in the morning. As we stroll home, I listen to them easily slip into conversation and chase each other down the sidewalk. A smile creeps across my face as I realize I’m not feeling anxious. We’ve found our rhythm together. We take a detour through the playground, allowing them to continue their game of tag. After all, we aren’t in a hurry to get anywhere.
For more parenting insights, check out this other blog post on Cervical Insemination, and if you’re considering home insemination, visit Cryobaby for a convenient kit. For additional guidance on pregnancy and home insemination, Medical News Today provides excellent resources.
In summary, parenting is a whirlwind of emotions and experiences, where moments can feel both fleeting and eternal. As we navigate these stages, it’s vital to embrace the present and find joy in the chaos.
Leave a Reply