A child’s actions have the power to permeate a parent’s once lucid, now completely crazy mind.
Looking back at years past, I could recall moments with my children that deeply resonated with me, in good ways, not-so-good ways, and in somewhat strange ways. Usually it was a combination, forcing my mind to begin the disintegration process.
The first time that my little boy uttered the word “Mama,” my heart sang.
Shortly thereafter, he called the dog “Mama,” the football player on TV “Mama,” and his oatmeal with prunes “Mama,” so I began to not feel so special.
His speaking and use of words came on slowly; so much so that I had him evaluated by speech and language professionals to find out if there was a developmental problem. The specialists lessened my superfluous mommy-worry, but it was always in the back of my mind. That is, until he started… and didn’t ever stop.
From the moment he woke up in the morning at 5:30 he began talking, and continued until he went to bed at night at 7:00. How this didn’t tire him out is a mystery, because I was always exhausted by the end of the evening, just listening to his endless discussion of why his toys belong in the toilet bowl (because they want to go swimming), why he shouldn’t ever have to eat vegetables (because they look gross), and why he should be allowed to play with the hammer (“Look, Mom, I can bam all the stuff!”).
Needless to say, I had worried for nothing, as most parents do.
In mere moments, a parent goes from daydreaming about going into labor to get out of putting away the dishes (was that just me?) to yelling that underpants do not belong on the kitchen table (was that just my kid?), and very soon I’ll be dragging my butt out of my warm bed on a Saturday morning to drive to ice hockey practice, or play rehearsal, or whatever other miserable, I mean marvelous, activities my little ones have decided to participate in.
The only certainty that life has afforded us is this: time continues.
Hour to hour, day to day, moment to moment we move forward. The events that we once had looked forward to come and go, the terrible experiences that we think will never end do, and although memories of moments, both considerable and seemingly inconsequential, stay with us, the event itself ends. We are left to continue toward the next episode of our life.