It’s true what they say. The years really are short.
I came across a photo in my Timehop app yesterday that made me stop and pause. I clearly know that my son turns seven next month, but seeing this photo caused my throat to tighten just a bit.
How is he almost seven? How is it possible that seven years have gone by? That it’s been so long since I held him as a wee babe in my arms?
It took us over two years to conceive him. At the time, we felt so much pain, so much longing and disappointment. Now it’s just a blip on our mental radar, an experience we had, but can barely wrap our arms around.
That desire for a family, to hold a little one of our very own close to our bodies has turned into this.
He’s a full on boy, constantly on the move. He has his own thoughts, feelings and emotions. He has dreams and ambitions.
Where did the time go?
I know there were many, many nights slept on the floor of his room. There were cheers of excitement as he took his first steps, as his foot first made contact with a ball, as he learned to do a cartwheel and hit a baseball. There were big toddler tears as he threw tantrums and yelled NO!
These days are full of books and LEGOs, Minecraft and Pokeman. He spends his weekend obsessed with whatever sport is in season – football, basketball, hockey – he doesn’t care.
I find myself staring at him, looking for a glimpse of that baby I was do desperate to have. It’s not gone. I see it at night as he cuddles up next to me. He’s not so big, not so grown that he doesn’t want hugs and snuggles from his parents. He grabs hold of my pinky and asks for a song.
My baby is still here.