Paradise Paved.

So the other day I stumbled across something written by someone I knew in anothe rlife. (Nothing mysterious -- just friends who discovered they don't really like each other.) Anyway, this person is working toward what I gather is a challenging graduate degree and a career change. She has two small children. She was writing on her university's website about the challenges of balancing motherhood and education. A line in it struck me hard. It was something like, "Yes, it' s sometimes hard to have to study during the weekends when I hear my children playing upstairs. But then I remember it's a short-term issue and I'm working on a long-term benefit." Or something like that. And all I can think is that your children are growing up NOW. That's what's happening in the short term. And by the time the long-term payoff is here, your children will be grown. Melodramatic, considering that we're talking about a two-year program. But still. The changes that occur in children in the first few years are astonishing. To miss any of that seems like an incredible loss to me.

Of course, I constantly feel like my children are growing up before my eyes. I swear, sometimes I see them growing with the naked eye. And I try so hard to live in the moment, to enjoy these years of wonderment, change and innocence. The funny thing is, contrary to what I've heard from so many mothers, I didn't really feel an instant bond of unfathomable love for my children. Don't get me wrong. We've since bonded the shit out of one another. But when they were born my emotions were more along the lines of fearful wariness. Probably a result of waaaay too much infertility and pregnancy losses. When I first met the boys my feelings were strong, but far more distant than other mothers describe. They were like my, what? My Faberge eggs, prehaps. Valuable in the extreme and oh-so-fragile. I'd spent months forcing myself to assume they wouldn't actually be born. Worrying and using a home Doppler machine every night. Having Steph reassure me that we were hearing two distinct heartbeats but deep down knowing it may all be a mistake. And then they were born, unexpectedly early, my two little Faberge eggs. And I wanted them. I worried about them. But it took me a while before my defenses melted and I let my heart really open to them. So unlike many parents, I can't really point to a moment when I first felt that overpowering surge of love. All I know is that it's there and it's still growing and when I think about how fragile they are or were or may be it literally makes it difficult for me to breathe.

I hear mothers yearning for time away from their children and I think they are out of their minds. You will have many, many, many years without your children. You have only right now with them at this stage, really. Not that my kids don't drive me nuts sometimes. I'd be some kind of freak if that were true. But I do remember when I'm going insane rocking them while they fight sleep that there will come a time in the too-near future when I am longing to have them willing to crawl into my lap and snuggle up with me. Life is too short. Childhood is even shorter.

They are nearly 4 years old. I'm still getting used to this.