All Too Fast

It's a new year. And that means I've been feeling a bit thought-ful and nostalgic. As Quinn gets ready to turn four-months-old, and as Banner enters another semester of school, I am just feeling like this ride is going way too fast. It's a ride I often complain about, feel frustrated with, or get overwhelmed with in a lot of ways a lot of the time - but New Year's Eve I had an awakening like never before. Sam and I had the house to ourselves since Mom took the boys for the night. We made a very last-minute decision to pack them up and let them have some time with Grandma and Papa while we enjoyed a movie and some alone time to ring in the new year. The boys haven't been feeling well - colds or allergies, not sure which. But, they weren't 100%, and I wasn't 100% sure I wanted to leave them for the night, but I decided there's really nothing different about Grandma's house, and she was more than capable (more than I am?) of taking great care of them. So, we took Mom up on her offer and headed over there with all their meds, VapoRub, humidifier, aspirator, and even a rectal thermometer (just in case). Once I had said my goodbyes and Sam and I were enjoying some time together, I started to relax and try not to feel guilty about leaving the boys for the night.

When we got home, I found the typical toys strewn about the house. A play tea kettle in my bathroom, a Hot Wheels in the hallway, crayons and stickers on the kitchen floor, and Legos sprinkling the den and play room surrounded by train tracks and trucks of all kinds. These are all normal sights around my house, and on most days, I am annoyed and frustrated by the never-ending clutter of random toys, books, burp rags, clothes, and shoes throughout every room of this house. I swear I clean my house. You wouldn't know it by looking at it, but I can sweep, mop, vacuum, put away laundry, clean mirrors, etc... and 10 minutes later (literally!), it looks like nothing has been done in months. The constant "un-doing" of my cleaning and picking up is enough to send me over the edge at any minute, and sometimes I feel like I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown or anxiety attack - seriously. But, on this particular evening, as 2013 became 2014, I had a different feeling. Nostalgia.

There was a sense of sadness and missing. It was a comfort to see my boys' things when they weren't here. And all of a sudden, I had a peek into my future. I could imagine my life 18 years from now, Banner and Quinn gone from this house - off on their own in the big world - and Sam and I here all alone, basically "done" raising our little boys (as if you could ever be "done"?), and I felt so, so sad. These messy days are going to be a distant memory all too quickly, and I'll miss the random skillet in the bathroom. I will miss seeing one itty-bitty shoe next to the refrigerator and its match three rooms away near the toilet. The Play Doh bits that are a constant headache to me now . . . I will long for them in 16 years when Banner is too big and too mature and too cool for making me a pizza of various colors or of slithering a green snake towards me to eat me all up. I couldn't help but long for these days to last longer - to memorize every toy they play with, every little funny thing they say - so when they are big teenagers or even grown men with kids of their own, I will see the toddler I love so much still inside them, still peeking out at me saying, "Mommy, I'm still here!"

Last week, we stopped using the swaddle blanket for Quinn. He's going up a size in diapers, and he's ready for the next size of clothing, too. I'm packing up newborn and 3-month clothes... wondering if I'll see these clothes on another one of my babies. And then it hits me, it doesn't matter if it's another baby or not - Quinn will never wear these again. Banner will never wear these again. There's no turning back. And, as they grow up, I'm learning to let go and grow up with them. There's always a change happening, a movement towards independence and maturity: moving out of Mommy & Daddy's bedroom as newborns, not needing a swaddle, weaning off the bottle, outgrowing the crib, saying goodbye to pacifiers. (Side note: Banner is at the point where we really need to take away his pacis he uses for night and nap... but I think I'M more anxious about it than he is - and not because he may not sleep as well, but because I love those pacifiers FOR him! They are his loveys, his friends, his comfort when I'm not there. How can I take those away? What do I do when I'M the one not ready?) And these changes happen so fast these first few years.

I haven't quite shaken this sad feeling that they're growing up and getting big all too fast. Quinn isn't even 4 months yet, and I miss him. Part of me wants to scream, "What is wrong with you!? He's still so little!" But the other part of me knows that I'm right. I know how fleeting these days are. And, while I can still see Banner at 4-months-old in my head, I don't remember the feel of his body in my arms, and I would do anything to try to feel his little newborn skin again, to rock him to sleep at 2, 3, 4, months old. I try to savor these days with Quinn and cry when I fear I won't remember it. I try to hide my tears from Banner when I tuck him in at night and his beautiful, angel face tells me he loves me and he kisses me. I hear their sweet lullabies playing at night, and I want to remember how I feel as they are lulled to sleep, their little bodies warm in their beds. I'm grateful for my writing and my blogging to keep it all documented in the moment - but I want more than that - I want it to last, to be felt again and again - and that just can't happen.

So, I'm trying to be in the moment more. And that has become my New Year's resolution... even though I'm not sure I have ever really made one before. I am well aware that these days will go faster than I can imagine, and I will never get them back, no matter how much I try later to remember and recall. I get one chance with each baby of mine. I get one day with them at this age. And, every day, they are older. There are only so many days with them before they are gone from this house, before I am gone from this world. I can't make it last any longer, but I can get the most out of it. . . try to enjoy the ride, even if it is happening all too fast.