A Mother’s Battle with Time
How time gives and steals in motherhood.
At my daughter’s dance recital on Saturday, the young lady on stage took my breath away.
But she also broke my heart.
I sat in both awe and anguish as she glided into focus under the lights, as her olive skin glowed against her teal leotard and champagne tutu, and as her long legs and slender frame moved with a gracefulness and poise far beyond her eight years of age.
This is happening to me more and more frequently now—the simultaneous swelling and sinking of my heart as I admire the young lady who has replaced my little girl.
My little girl still comes to visit. On Sunday, she held my hand as we ran an errand and cuddled with me on the couch as we watched an afternoon movie. But mostly it’s the young lady I see these days.
I’m thankful for time, because I’m so very proud of this young lady. She’s smart, kind, a loyal friend, and an incredibly thoughtful big sister. She is, by all accounts, a good kid. And a fun kid! I love spending time with her. I’ve felt an unexpected sense of freedom and liberation with her growing independence. As it turns out, being a mom is more fun without the shackles of a diaper bag.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also long for the afternoons when we’d fall asleep together in the chair as I rocked her for nap. Or the mornings when she’d cry as I dropped her off at daycare.
And it’s not for a lack of cherishing those moments. I cherished the hell out of them.
But it doesn’t matter. Because while time brings growth, time is also a thief. Time doesn’t warn you when you’re about to share your last butterfly kiss with her or hear her mispronounce “M&Ms” for the final time. Time doesn’t tell you when it’s the last time you’ll see her in a tutu.
And worst of all, time doesn’t allow you to mourn those lasts and finals because time brings new lasts and finals with every passing day. I know the days of the young lady before me are finite and few. In the blink of an eye, she’ll be my young woman. I can’t wait. But I also never want to get there.
It’s perpetual ache and excitement, all at once, all the time.
Time is a delight. Time is a thief. And this is motherhood.
Nailed it! Thank you.