Then they do

Ok, I admit it. I am not a "stop and smell the roses" kind of person. I try. And for a few fleeting moments every now and then I do stop to take a quick break to soak in absolutely everything that's amazing with my life. But for the most part, it's run run run.

On the weekends, I wish for 15 more minutes of sleep when Jackson wakes up. Then it's time for breakfast. Then constant entertainment until lunchtime. Then lunch. Then he naps, and I scurry around to get dishes, vacuuming, laundry, yard work, and anything else done during those sacred two hours. (Who are these people who read books during nap time and why am I not organized enough to ever be able to do that?!?)

Yesterday, while I was hustling around during Jackson's midday snooze, I straightened up our room, folded two loads of laundry, made and ate lunch, cleaned up the kitchen, washed the dishes, and then decided to get a head start on dinner while Chad was out working in the yard.

I threw some music on and was buzzing around with a sort of efficiency that only belongs to the parent of a toddler. I was halfway through a song before I stopped to listen to it.

Now you've got time that's all your own, you've been waiting for so long for this day to come...Then they do. 

Ah, Trace Adkins. I hadn't listened to this song since before Jackson was born. A song about a parent who is constantly wishing for their kids to grow up...and it happens in the blink of an eye.

Oh crap, I realized. Someday - probably someday really really soon - I'm going to realize that my little guy is totally self-sufficient and I'd give absolutely anything to have some of these days back.

Secretly, I sometimes wish for teenagers. Or grown-up kids. At this rate, I'd even take the elementary school ones I could toss outside on a nice day with a "don't come in 'til dinnertime" charge. I would give anything to sleep in, or read a magazine while my kids played, or get any iota of housework done without one eye constantly planted on my child who has no fear of anything. Parenting something this mobile is completely exhausting.

But on the flip side, someday I know the ear-to-ear grin I get just for walking in a room will disappear. And little things like riding in a wagon or singing the "Itsy Bitsy Spider" won't elicit shrieks of excitement. Instead, someday - probably sooner than I'd like - I'll get a hurried wave out the door and maybe an obligatory hug before heading out for an afternoon of who-knows-what. I'll have time then to cook dinner and read books and nap. I'll have time for me.

I'm sure I'll love that life, too. But I'm sure I'll look back at these unpredictable, crazy days fondly, and wish for them every now and then. So during these times when it feels like we're on a treadmill from 8 a.m. until 8 p.m., I tuck a few special moments away in my memory for those days I'll actually be able to sit and think about the way it used to be.

I just hope I don't lose my mind between now and then.