The Space of a Year

My baby is turning 1 today. Of all my 35 years, this has undoubtedly moved the fastest. Our children are a visual representation of time passing. Sure, we notice deeper lines in the creases next to our eyes, however I care very little about slowing my own aging process.

But I’d give anything to slow theirs.  

I am unabashedly emotional watching these girls grow up. The older they get, the more important their own autonomy becomes--which is just a fancy word for, they don’t need us as much anymore.

It tastes bitter and unfair, because I need them the exact same amount, if not more every day.

With Josephine being my third, I knew the speed at which it all would pass and I’d whisper into my brain, savor her littleness. The laundry can wait.

And it did wait.

And I would cradle her in the crook of my arm, for I knew soon she would no longer fit. I cherished her tiny ten fingers and tiny ten toes. Those moments were golden and they belonged only to her and I.

Photo credit: Brian Cutter

We thrived in the days that were worthy of thriving and survived the days that warranted survival. I made every attempt to unblur the blur that encased us. This year was was intentional as a genuine smile.

But I’m still here 365 days into her life, just as baffled at our arrival at a place we all knew was coming.

There isn’t a solution or answer, as it isn’t actually a problem. Children get older-- that’s exactly what we want them to do. They will continually outgrow all the spaces provided: cribs, clothes, car seats.

But what gives me quiet solace is I, too, was once my mother’s baby, moving too quickly for her liking through all the stages of autonomy. Today I still fit wholly in her arms, Mother Nature’s wonderfully intentional design. Because no matter what our age, we never outgrow the spaces where we need our parents to fit.

Four Fish Funerals

One of my vivid memories as a child was burying our fish in the backyard and then continually going to dig him back up to see what would happen. I assumed death was like some sort of magic trick and Gilly’s body would simply disappear and then reappear in the clouds, in heaven. It is because of this experience we are a flushing family, through and through. As I shared last week, we took the plunge into purchasing goldfish for the girls. I am going to spoil the ending and reveal that we’ve had 4 fish funerals in exactly one week.  

It began when I went upstairs to drop off a load of clean laundry and then happened upon my youngest sitting around a puddle of water and stroking Grandpa Fish ever so tenderly in her small hands. I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried to catch a fish, but those suckers are slippery. If I wasn’t so completely horrified, I might be a little impressed by her fishing abilities. The next morning my husband noticed Peggy Fish was starting to float awfully suspiciously and so he primed the kids that she might be going on a vacation very soon, and likely out of solidarity/being cuddled by my 2-year-old, Grandpa Fish, also went belly up within an hour.

The girls went off to Nana and Papa’s house and I replaced the fish with Peggy 2.0 and Grandpa 2.0 and my children were none the wiser. The very same manager sold me two more at full price because while I will do most anything for my kids, carrying a bag of dead fish in my Kate Spade purse is not one of them. Meanwhile I have got to hand it to Mr. Petco Manger for knowing his sh** because I did have to replace the water everyday due to an abundance of feces, which between my children and my dogs, I need more poop in my life, like I need more judgement from the employees at Petco.

Within 2 days we had lots more hands-inside-the-water-incidents and one more unexplained death. The final straw was, well, I do not want to call it murder, but let’s just say two-year-olds don’t understand that fish don’t drink orange juice. We gave them proper goodbyes down the porcelain expressway and my children learned about bigger life lessons and I learned I simply do not need any more non-human responsibilities. I’ve retired our fish bowl safely away in the closet because while my kids easily accept that all fishies go to heaven, this is simply 4 flushes too many for this Mama.