This is one from the archives. My archives. This is a piece I wrote a few years back for my kids’ elementary school community. It reminds me–and maybe it will remind you, too–to enjoy every stage of parenting. No matter how old our babies are.
I got lucky last week. My mom offered to take my two-year old for a few days. (Actually, I don’t remember if she offered, or acquiesced. One of the two.)
And so for the first time, in what seemed like a very long time, I had down time. Time alone. I found myself giggling while walking down Columbus. Friends asked if I had lost weight, lightened my hair, had an affair. But no, none of those inquiries were correct. I had simply shipped a little monkey upstate. And even as I left him, as my mom and I were negotiating just how soon I’d be back to pick him up (She: Thursday? Me: Friday?), I could feel my shoulders lifting. —
Don’t get me wrong. I love that boy, as I love all three. But there’s something about having three children over a seven-year stretch that leads you to forget who you once were. (In addition to forgetting where the house keys are and what your spouse’s middle name is.) And so, when that parenting veil is temporarily lifted by a very generous grandparent—when that adorable, deeply dimpled, highly-energetic two-year old is asking someone else to pitch wiffle ball, after wiffle ball, after wiffle ball—you get a moment to think. About everything. About nothing.
I had grand plans for the week. I’d clean out my closets. Chat with my husband. Organize my life.
I probably touched on all of those things, or thought about addressing a few. But at the last minute I got a call from a client and took on a small writing job: a 15-second commercial script.
The script probably took three hours out of the week, but since they were three uninterrupted hours, I felt productive, confident, professional. I loved copywriting more than I ever remember loving it in the past.
It may have been the timing. This little job came along when my full-time little job was off visiting his grandma; when my apartment was empty and I could be reminded of who I used to be, and who I could be again, once my days were once again my days.
It was liberating, really.
Yet, there was a time, not so long ago, when the feeling was not as liberating; when my daughter was interviewing for nursery school. I took her to and from schools with an uneasy sense, a growing melancholy at my impending empty nest (this was shortly before learning baby #3 was on his way.) I wasn’t ready for life without a little one. But now, these few years later, with a toddler-free week fresh in my mind, I feel ready. To move on. To look ahead.
And so he’s back; my bundle of boy, my energetic companion. And I’m enjoying every moment, even the moments when he’s climbing out of his stroller insisting that we leave whatever store I was foolish enough to think we could shop. That week alone gave me a chance to look ahead, but it also gave me a chance to look back at three children who are growing too quickly. Days with them can be long, but the years are far too short.
So I’ll enjoy mine and you enjoy yours, and maybe one day we’ll meet for a quiet lunch, talk about business and reminisce about our baby years.
