“I saw you last night,” my mother told me over the phone. “I was asleep and suddenly there I was in that old apartment in Alabama, and there you were, padding down the hallway in your diaper, with your chubby legs … I saw you. It’s been so many years, but there you were again, right there with me. Oh,” she half-sighed, half-groaned, “I’d forgotten how cute you were!”
I watch my son, padding down the hallway in his diaper, with his chubby legs — and I sigh, and groan. No, no, no. I don’t want to forget him like this. Not ever.
They grow up so fast, everyone says. Poof! — they’re off to college. Soak in every moment while it lasts, because if you blink you miss it.
So do I get any credit for wanting to freeze time now? For wanting to preserve him today, exactly as he is, for always?
That wouldn’t be fair to him, of course. He’s got so much life ahead of him. But if I had a magic button to preserve him just like this — so enthused, so bursting with curiosity, so struck by the mystery of planes, empowered by the tangle of syllables — I’d be tempted. Sorely.
“He’s been fourteen and a half months for years now,” the world would say. “Isn’t it about time you let him grow up?” And they’d give me that look, the one reserved for mothers still nursing their kids at the age of three.
Bring it on. I’d just smile because they wouldn’t get it, wouldn’t have heard his low hum of amusement or his outright cackle. They wouldn’t have seen the lightbulb-screwing twist of his hand as he describes nearby trees and buildings. They wouldn’t have wrestled him on the carpet or buried their faces in his tummy. He’s happy this way. Life is good. Let it be, and be, and be.
We take pictures, we record video, but there’s no way to capture it all. “Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart,” Luke chapter 2 says. But my heart’s a sieve, already losing far too much.
God, please don’t ever let me forget him like this …
October 6, 2006 at 9:51 am |
Note what a drastic difference this post is from this one, or this one. Yes, we’re in a much better place now, my boy and I.
October 6, 2006 at 5:25 pm |
sigh. don’t even get me started on this. sometimes i find it very… is ironic the word?…ironic that sharing a particularily sweet moment with one of my toddlers makes me feel exceptionally melancholy, because it only emphasizes to me how temporary the moment is.
“the days go slow, but the years go fast.”
October 6, 2006 at 11:45 pm |
Great saying — captures it just right. And thanks for sharing, jwh — I’m glad to know I’m not crazy for feeling like that. Your two kids sure have changed a lot in just the short time since their births, which don’t seem that long ago at all! How weird …
October 7, 2006 at 6:48 am |
You captured the moment so well. Your not alone Mike trust me. having a 14 year old and babies, I know just how fast the years slip by. I am so bad that sometimes I won’t put them to bed when they are exhausted and just had enough. My wife will say “come on, they are so tired”. I will ask for just a couple more minutes. I love walking in the room after a 14 hour day and having two babies scream with joy at my mere presence. Where else you gonna get that ! Oh yeah, freeze time I would. Then walk into the living room where my oldest is on the computer. She doesn’t even look up. Not even a “hi dad” unless I say hi first so she can even notice I am there. There is a little time machine for ya, I remeber when my oldest used to scream when I walked into the room. That 14 years was a blip. Enjoy it while its here is right. Savor it like crisp autum day in new england.
October 9, 2006 at 4:46 pm |
I like even better this slightly different turn of the same phrase: The days are filled with years, which I know from the album of that name by the Giraffes (PUSA).
I can also totally relate to “sharing a particularily sweet moment with one of my toddlers makes me feel exceptionally melancholy” — I often have a vague ennui that my kids’ childhoods are slipping away — even though I think my kids are “advanced” (i.e. cramming more life into their so-far lifetimes than most other kids).
October 9, 2006 at 4:48 pm |
Forgot to complete 1st paragraph above: That album cover has the musician’s infant son playing piano, so I guess he made the same connection.
October 11, 2006 at 11:28 pm |
I used to jokingly press down on my son’s head to “keep him from growing.” Right up until he almost burst into tears because I was trying to keep him from growing up.
Well, YEAH!
But at 9 years old, it’s already begun to be so important for him to be perceived as a big boy, capable, strong, etc.
I remember the little lump of fluff that use to fit like a teddy bear right under my chin.
I love each new experience as he grows, each new milestone in his development, but I miss the giggling little toddler, too.
November 13, 2006 at 10:47 pm |
Take heart … Twenty odd years from now, Lord willing, Ben will be a new daddy and give you the most wonderful gift … a grandchild. In many ways the memories flood back so vivid and strong that it takes your breath away. Once again you have the joy of cuddling with a warm little body with that delightful baby smell and sharing all the excitement of discovery. And to top it off you will get to watch all of the wonder and joy as Ben watches his child. It absolutely pays for all of the sleepless nights and runny noses.