My baby is 20 today. Twenty! I think I’m in shock. I am way too young to have a 20-year-old and he’s way too young to be 20. Another startling development? Yesterday, my twins were accepted to college. What the what! How is this happening? When I asked a colleague, he said, “The days go by slowly, but the years? The years fly by.” Preach.
I remember when I had three under 3. I’d wake up at the crack of dawn, already anxious about what kind of parenting hell I’d have to survive. Physically exhausting, emotionally challenging and psychologically punishing – each day seemed interminable. Odds were good that I wouldn’t eat anything other than a stray Gerber puff and a toasted-hours-ago bagel, and that at some point I’d be exposed to a biochemical substance that required a Clorox hose-down and several shouted expletives. By nightfall, I’d usually collapse into bed, say a quick prayer that everyone would sleep through the night and fall into a fitful repose only to do it all again come sunrise.
I can recall with vivid detail harrowing trips to the Fishers YMCA, the Children’s Museum and a particularly controversial de-pantsing at the Carmel Library that nearly earned me a story-hour lifetime ban. I remember individual playdates, specific neighborhood walks and even the guest lists for all the birthday parties. But I can’t tell you where all the years went. I cannot remember when my two sons suddenly needed razors or when my daughters began wearing makeup. I literally have no idea when my kids grew up.
Seriously, where has the time gone? My baby is 20!
Peace out.
