Baby Teeth and a Dying Christmas Tree
Being a mother means bearing witness to the merciless march of time, all the time.
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Any day now my son may start being able to pronounce the S sound.
I work with him on phonics but secretly hope that he’ll always call his sister ‘thithy.’
I cried while taking down my Christmas tree last week. I had avoided it well past the 'appropriate post-holiday interval of early January. It was more than just sheer laziness, I kept coming up against some sort of emotional block that kept me lingering around the tree even as the white-spruce pines started to turn brown.
I have always been fascinated by the march of time. At least once a day, I think, ten years ago, ____was happening or it’s been five years since____. From time to time, I dwell on rosy-tinted nostalgia or romanticize the past. This tendency went into hyperdrive after I had children. Children become a living, breathing, physical representation of how fast time goes by. One minute you’re taking the Christmas ornaments off the tree, wondering how it’s all over, and the next minute you’re going downstairs to grab them again at the end of the year, wondering why you never learn that you need a better method to store the lights other than bunching them up into a ball and shoving them in a bag (I did it again this year, tbh).
As a child, December 26th was the absolute worst day of the year for me. Christmas was magical. My parents always made it great. At my 8th birthday party, one of my friends asked “who still believes in Santa Claus” and I raised my hand under the table. I think I kept up believing until at least 12 or 13 years old. All that build up and then it’s done.
I still feel a little of that post-Christmas hangover melancholy but have also started to enjoy the lazy, slow-paced days that follow. But not this year. This year I was sick. I spent the last days of the year on the couch unable to take care of myself, my kids, my house. It felt wasted. It felt like I didn’t savor it. I didn’t get to enjoy those moments. So when it came time to take down the tree I was crushed. Did I enjoy every minute? Did I savor it for all the build up? Or was it just another week that passed me by?
That’s what gets me about thinking about the past.
I look back on pictures when my kids were newborns, toddlers, even a year ago—how I wish I could go back! Did I realize what I had? Did I cherish every moment? I probably didn’t and that depresses me. I feel their childhoods slipping through my fingers. How can every day be so long and go by so quickly at the same time? Will tomorrow be the day he stops calling me mama? Or calls his sister sissy?
My daughter lost her two front teeth a month ago and I got a delicious return of that gummy smile I loved so much when she was a baby. Then POOF--adult teeth. Teeth that she will flash in her senior portrait. Teeth that she will look at in the mirror as an adult, debating wether to quit coffee because of their color. Teeth that will bite into wedding cake.
My reverence and ache for the past also fuels my distaste for what I frequently see all over social media when it comes to mothering. So much advertising and content centers around getting ‘a break’ from your kids. Gadgets to distract your kids, routines for more independence, ‘hacks’ to get you to stop holding your baby and ‘get stuff done.’ How I wish I could go back and not really worry about “getting stuff done.” Take my stuff, please! Give me back my babies when they were tiny.
Maybe this is just part of being a mother. Being okay with looking back on the past and realizing you were not your best self. Regretting what you’ve done and trying not to keep making the same mistakes. The constant struggle to realize how good it is--right now.
My daughter is just turned three months, having taken nearly 5 years to conceive her and by god I am trying to savor every single second while also tamping down the voice that says I’ve not savored enough (as it distracts from said savoring).
Time is already flying so quickly, I love seeing her grow and develop but it feels like holding water in your hands.