The Days and the Years

During our grocery trek today, I spotted an acquaintance I had not seen in over 14 years. She was gingerly pushing her one month old in a stroller, while simultaneously pulling a grocery cart along. We exchanged pleasantries, and I cooed over her baby (I had almost forgotten the cute little faces babies make when they're sleeping!)

She looked tired (to be expected), but happy. She admitted it was her first time trying to take him out and go shopping at the same time. I told her that I totally recognized the significance of that moment. I remember all to well the prayers I muttered, hoping the baby would sleep through the whole store and not wake up, screaming bloody murder. I remember feeling so unsure about my first baby because it didn't seem to take much to make her upset.

That was a rough couple of months.

She asked me how old my kids were and I told her. I looked down to see Buddy pulling Rosie's hair, and heard her subsequent screech. "It goes by fast," she stated as she gazed at my kids.

I looked at her, and looked at her baby, and thought about all the things I didn't want to say because there were just too many that people had said to me over the years that didn't really help. Because while it was a few years ago now, I still remember the delicacy of first time motherhood.

I didn't want to tell her "enjoy every moment", because I think that's just a rotten thing to say to someone who is sleep-deprived. I didn't want to say "you'll miss this stage someday", because that, too, does nothing for a mother in that current situation of newborn neediness.

Instead I said, "You know, the best way I've ever heard motherhood described is this: The days are long, but the years are short."

She nodded, she said she liked that. Probably for the same reasons I do. It's a wistful reminder that we'll miss certain things about our kids now, but it also recognizes the difficulties we feel at each age, at every stage, day in and day out.

We parted ways, her newborn still asleep, and my kids talking over each other, asking if they were going to get a slice of cheese at the deli. I'm hoping she was able to have the same sigh of relief I still have at the end of shopping trips with kids: "I did it."