In just a few hours, as we all slumber, the Little Mr turns two. I’d ask where the time has gone, but I have spent the last 3 days snuggling my sick child and know exactly where it went: it went in tears and laughs. It went in bath times and pool days. It went in messy grocery store scenes and fights to stay in seats at restaurants. It went in the bazillion times we read the same books over and over, and the happy messes we made in the kitchen making pancakes or baking cakes. It went with tantrums and snuggles. With gardens and dirt and feeding chickens in his “turtle power” boots. With “knitting” and helping decide which squares of fabric should go where on my in-progress quilt. With tearing apart my craft room but not being able to be too mad because he’s learning hands-on even though it’s a huge pain to re-fold fabric or pick up beads that were dropped (or impossible-to-find empty sewing machine bobbins).
Another year has gone by. I started my day off complaining about my cake. It wasn’t perfect like my Pinterest “inspiration” photo. It wasn’t tall enough. The icing wasn’t thick enough. The layers didn’t bake flat enough because my floors are uneven. I spent my weekend snuggling a poor, sick little one who wanted to be in my arms 24/7. I spent a sleepless night snuggling this child in bed because he wouldn’t sleep anywhere else. I wished for a drink before noon at least two out of the 3 days because the clingyness is too much for this introverted mama with a low touch quota. And then I took the photos of the party and immediately regretted it – I prefer my own eye for photos, but trying to mother and adjust the camera for photos doesn’t work and I should have just left the job to the husband and and and….
But none of that matters, because tomorrow my baby wakes up and is suddenly 2 years old and it all suddenly feels like it’s too fast. It was a year, but it wasn’t enough time. I didn’t get enough snuggles, enough fun days together, enough books to read repeatedly. It’s all much too fast. Much, much too fast.