The older you get, the faster time flies.
That age old message was preached to me time and time again as I was growing up. And, just as any polite young southern girl would do, I always smiled and nodded to whichever family friend happened to be so generously bestowing said life lesson on me.
Of course, my much less proper though infinitely more sincere reaction was reserved for my parents: a big fat eye roll.
It wasn’t until I hit my mid-twenties that I realized that the adults in my life had, in fact, not been out to annoy me, but rather were simply informing me of a somewhat absurd and frightening phenomenon. Though we may all technically have 24 hours in a day and 365 days in a year, time seems to pass more quickly with every passing year.
In my experience, the validity of this concept didn’t become fully evident until I became a mother. There’s something about having child that makes the concept of passing time even more tangible than the ever-increasing number of candles on a birthday cake.
My first born will soon be seven years old and yet it seems like just yesterday that she was a newborn and I was a sleep deprived new mom living in Paris.
Now, she’s a fully bilingual 6.5 year old with the most sensitive heart and empathetic soul. She loves to learn and thirsts for knowledge about everything under the sun and can put her mom to shame in a plethora of disciplines from the Rubik’s cube to the monkey bars.
As if that weren’t enough, yesterday my baby – mon petit dernier – turned four years old.
And I, well, I’m left sitting here asking myself Where did the time go?
Forgive me if the question seems a bit cliché, but I just can’t help but feel like Father Time has sucker punched me in the gut.
How is it possible that my baby boy is now an independent little boy who organizes his car collection by color, size, and function?
How is it that those precious little baby feet that I once covered in kisses now run back and forth around a tennis court and ride a big boy bike with no training wheels? Where did time go? Forgive me if the question seems a bit cliché, but I just can’t help but feel like Father Time has sucker punched me in the gut.
Where did time go? Forgive me if the question seems a bit cliché, but I just can’t help but feel like Father Time has sucker punched me in the gut.
When did my cooing baby turn into a bilingual pre-schooler who just this week taught me a new word in French?
With every passing day, my children grow taller and smarter. With every inch, with every leap in maturity, time seems to pick up speed.
In 11 years, my precious first born will be a legal adult.
My baby boy is officially 1/4th of the way to legal driving age in the USA.
Sooner rather than later, my kids will pack their bags and move on to bigger and better things. In the blink of an eye, I’ll find myself yearning for the very things that are currently the bane of my existence – the toys strewn all over the place, the piles of laundry, the early morning wake ups, the incessant high pitch squealing.
One day in the not so distance future, I’ll tell get that wistful look in my eyes and I’ll tell my own children,
The older you get, the faster time flies…
And, if they’re anything like their mama once was, they’ll probably just roll their eyes.