Revisionist tale
i pick up and put away fallen toys and random
pieces of clothes and imagine my life before. when
floors were bare and so was the refrigerator and there
was no rush to fill it nor prepare dinner because ‘who eats?’
on Fridays anyway, not me & i exhale
winded after constant bending and rising, straightening items
that stand less than four feet tall, preparing to vacuum. in amazement
that in a four year-span brown can become gray expanse
and worries change in chameleon fashion from single and dating
to play dates and naps. quiet time alone, now, a coveted reward instead
of an unwanted declaration. i replace
markers to their bins, dolls to their perches and dress-up clothes to
their closet. closing the door, i remember unfinished tasks that
await in the next room and consume the silence in thirsty
gratefulness, undaunted by her impending arrival.
“I know now that everything changes and it’s usually too quickly.”
Now that my firstborn is eight years old I can truly appreciate this statement that I wrote when he was only four. We have moved through so many phases, and currently we are smack-bang in the middle of the ‘I’m too big for cuddles’ stage. (Sometimes anyway!) Of course it’s sad, but I try to hold onto the bigger picture – the need for him to begin to assert his independence, to move out into the world. I console myself with the willing warmth and delicious softness of my ‘baby’ boy – now five!