Children have made me older. And they keep me young, living with their daily joie de vivre is contagious, while their daily independence gives me gray hair. They wear me out, at the end of each day I'm tired on a level I could never before understand, and yet energized every morning when I hear four little feet running down the hall. I'm up and ready to do it all again, each day being a fresh start from what we left behind at bedtime the previous night. My dear sister was convinced I was too old to take this on, at 37 she was certain that I would crumble into a pile of old woman'ness when they reached the constantly mobile second year. But I did not, and here we are at four, just as tired, just as wonderful, and just as ready to head into the next year.
But if they are now four then I must have aged, just a bit. For years I was in my twenties, not a specific age, just floating about happily in the second decade. And then the thirties happened and again, I was somewhere in my 30s for years, wonderfully happy and content, and aging very little. We were married when I was 34 so I stuck with that age for quite some time, not meaning to really, but it suited me and I liked being 34. Will and Eliza, two of my favorite children of two of my very best friends, were part of our wedding. They were six, the perfect age to be adorable, Eliza called Jack the "broom" and Will thought he was marrying me, reluctant to hand over the ring at the ceremony. Will, Eliza and I are all about the same height now.
My friend Brad recently asked me how old the girls were at my 40th birthday party. If they were not yet two, and now they are four, how old am I? Before children there were no real markers, nothing but a few smile lines to remind me that I was older than the day before. Mary and Kate change every day, every single day there is something new, and thus I grow with them, even if I remain blissfully unaware. Mary and Kate make me older if only because they are a true reflection of time passing. And thankfully they remind me how precious time is, every single day.
My friend Brad recently asked me how old the girls were at my 40th birthday party. If they were not yet two, and now they are four, how old am I? Before children there were no real markers, nothing but a few smile lines to remind me that I was older than the day before. Mary and Kate change every day, every single day there is something new, and thus I grow with them, even if I remain blissfully unaware. Mary and Kate make me older if only because they are a true reflection of time passing. And thankfully they remind me how precious time is, every single day.
1 comment:
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I love this. You've summed it all up so perfectly.
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