OOPSIE DOOPSIE

I say the same thing every year: I don’t know how it happened.

Somewhere between the nighttime feedings, scrapped knees, ice cream dates, daycare pick ups and potty training, my itty bitty baby turned into a three year old.

Three years old.

I know what happened … I blinked. Truly a mother’s curse.

I’ve never been so scared and yet so anxious to blink.

I remember when we were finally able to bring her home from the hospital. Those first few days were a hazy dream. Those newbies can s l e e p  t h r o u g h  t h e  d a y. Wrapped up like a baby burrito, just like the nurses taught us in the hospital, our tiny Madeline quietly slept in her bassinet as her dad and I picked ourselves off the floor, literally*, and slept in our own bed until that first nighttime feeding alarm sounded.

{*What they don’t tell you — when you bring that baby home, you are a hundred ways out of sorts. We didn’t sleep in our bed, but on the floor and couch, because we didn’t know what the hell to do.}

I blinked.

I started carrying her from the bassinet to the crib … in her own room. And as new parents, this crib in her own room might as well be described as being located a lifetime and a half away from our bed. The baby burrito transitioned to just a tiny blanket and NOTHING ELSE. <enter bumper-terrified-get-everything-out-but-a-pacifier-and-THIN-blanket-ONLY-stalking-baby-video-monitor parents> Nighttime feeding alarm sounds. I’m up!

I blinked.

The nighttime feeding alarm exited as the tiny whimpers / giggles / tears entered. I rushed to her room to “just check on her real quick”, which ultimately led to nighttime snuggles and Eskimo kisses as I drifted in and out of consciousness in our gently-used rocking chair. 3 a.m. rolls around too quick. Eventually, I laid her in her crib … again.

I blinked.

No whimpers. No tears. So quiet at night. {And I realize this is a blessing.} Adjusting to not being needed in the darkest of night … I watch the monitor as my head rests on the pillow.

And I noticed that the nighttime blinks turned into light naps. The light naps turned into full hours of rest. My nights were consumed with blinks. It was all happening so fast. During the greatest moments of recharge and rest, our babies turn into toddlers.

During the daylight, the blinks are separated by tea parties, sidewalk chalk and superhero capes. Running, jumping, dancing, swimming and peddling. And even during these daylight hours remain a series of blinks that will never cease.

Blink. An involuntary action beyond our control.

We can’t stop time but only savor those moments between the blinks. Be present and aware of the magic that happens right before you open your eyes … because in that moment, everything might have changed.

xo

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