There have been so many things of late that remind me how fleeting our days are - how our lives pass in seasons or "ages." I don't mean just age as in the number of years old you may be. But the season or periods of our lives that are wrapped around or designed for development or growth or a rite of passage. It is not always evident that we have slipped mysteriously from one age to another either - until a new event or moment unearths the discovery.
For a decade, I was a young 20-something, graduating from college, finding my niche in the work-a-day world and developing a career, meeting my beau who would become my husband and father of my children. I was set and on my way. Next came the late 20s and early 30s and starting a family. My career was a little more established and I was feeling pretty good about my place in life. I LOVED having infants and toddlers. It was exhausting and eye-opening, but life was fresh and new and so many opportunities lie ahead. I liked being a young mother. Then somehow my babies turned into grade school children and we entered a whole new "age" and life existence. New "friends" (parents of kids in our kids' classes), teachers and principals, organized athletics and activities, programs and concerts, practices and games. Whew! It was an adjustment. Not sure I have it well managed yet. And I was still exhausted.
Now our kids are all in grade school (my baby is in 2nd) and middle school, preparing for high school. The tide has shifed again. We are starting to think about insuring them to drive and what vehicle we will intrust to them. Do we like their friends and should we let them go on out-of-town trips without us? What college will they attend and why? Will there be enough money to support their endeavours? Each age brings a whole new mindset and all new questions and answers. We become different people as we move through these ages of time, continually adapting and changing to fit our new position or place. (And there's that exhaustion thing again.)
A co-worker of mine just had a baby last week. I saw pictures for the first time last night! Boy, there is nothing like pictures of a first-week newborn to take you back to a different age in time! It really was not that long ago when I was the late 20-something having my first baby. I can still smell the sweet smells (along with the not-so-sweet), feel the soft skin and tiny fingernails of both my baby boys. The flashbacks make me weepy. Now I have passed the baton to a "new" first-time mom. She is the one who is craddling and swaddling the precious new babe and learning to anticipate and distinguish each and every whimper and cry. It's a truly precious time. But she is also the one up two, three, four times during the wee hours for nightly feedings. And mixing formula. And changing diapers. Figuring out how the carrier fits into the base of the car seat. Packing up the whole house just to run to the grocery store for a few little necessities.
Okay. So maybe we painstakingly "earn" our way out of each age. And maybe we wouldn't trade going back for anything in the world. It was fun and time well spent - but better to push on to the next exciting age around the next bend in the road. I'm ready to grab the baton.
2 comments:
The baton. Seems as though, for me, I've been passing it back and forth to myself. I'm kind of a weird guy and so goes...my family is a bit weird. Although, I can't push that character flaw on my un-weird wife, she's better than I. But my kids have been inflicted by my weirdness. I'll be kicking two out of the house ALMOST simultaneously as one goes to college and the other goes to kindergarten. What were we thinking?
Badway
Ummm ... thinking probably wasn't really involved with what created that situation???? There have been many times I've also asked myself that same question about why we adopted a 12-year-old girl from the foster system. Foster system. Pre-teen girl. Enough said. I think we picked up someone else's dropped baton on that one. KIDDING. Really. We love her. But she is a TEENAGE girl now. Like I said before. Enough said.
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