The tears are flowing down my cheeks. Joni Mitchell’s song Circle Game played in my head while I watched from a distance as a U-Haul loaded up and drove away. It’s a neighbor’s house down the block and around the corner, I see their backyard from my kitchen. I don’t know them at all so I can only assume by the age of those loading the truck, the relatively few belongings loaded-twin sized bed among them- and the scant 40 minutes they spent here that someone’s baby bird has flown from their nest today. Whoever you are, you don’t know me either but my heart is full of pride for your grown-up person feeling the confidence to strike out and empty at their leaving.
I can see two other homes. Widows live there, great-grandchildren visit them when they can. It happens so slowly, so quickly and I don’t know how to hold on to these moments while I still cradle children in my arms. A pause button would be lovely. So many first times and last times they swirl about in a blur. From the bassinet to the big girl bed. A brief stint wanting to sleep with Mama and Papa again every night after baby brother was born but she seems over that now.
Nothing can accurately capture the sweet scent of baby heads or the feeling you get when they kiss you for the first time with that slobbery open mouth and eyes so excited.
Yesterday I looked around at our living room and play spaces and marveled at the changes. It doesn’t happen overnight. It’s not like one day you walk in and swoop up the entire playroom and replace every baby toy with the toddler ones then the preschooler ages and so forth. Remote-controlled robots from Sci-Fi movies mingle with dolls, blocks, toy cash registers, and the returning baby gear to start the cycle anew. One toy at a time it happens- this growing up before our very eyes. Building blocks replace stacking rings which ousted rattles.
One minute you’re 15 trying to sort out life and figure out what you want to be when you grow up. In the blink of an eye, you’re staring down the barrel of 40 looking in the mirror wondering whether to dye your hair or attempt to embrace the silvery forest that is but one part of the ever-changing landscape of your adult life.
I have the best intentions but no follow-through. All the above was written on January 5th, 2019. I got interrupted and never returned to finish and publish. I considered choosing a “word of the year” for 2019 and one of the ones I thought about was completion. I’m drowning over here in half-started dreams. Here it is now June and I’m preparing for my little girl’s fourth birthday party, having already celebrated with her best little friend whose birthday is five days earlier. Er, make that February 2020.
At Christmas, our local borough holds an event for children. It’s a wonderful thing and one of my favorite parts is they give each child a book. We brought home Someday by Alison McGhee and Peter H. Reynolds and it is heartwarming and tears flowing wonderful. I read it to my kiddos as I held them extra tight that day. It’s so hard to savor the moments and remember them all. It seems so short a time ago that I held my baby boy in my arms so fresh and new. My little Rocket always in a hurry this one, he wasn’t even 10 months old when he struck off on his own and started walking. I saw a photo the other day of him at 13 months old having climbed up on the children’s toy grand piano.
Little Miss will turn 5 this year and it’s all I can do to remember her so tiny and new. She’s working hard to sound things out and writing all day long. It won’t be long now before she’s a full-fledged reader. She goes to Sunday School and youth group without us and will soon ‘graduate out’ of library storytime. She talks of things she’ll do when she grows up and children she’ll have. It’s like talking to a 12-year-old. Today I found her listening to a parenting audiobook on my phone, she told me she was learning how to be nice to her brother and take good care of him.
I think I should try to print more photos and actually make an album or two. Journalling sounds like such a nice idea to capture the time.
