I’ve been thinking about Time alot this week. (Not the magazine, silly.)
H will be 9 months old next week. I will have been home with her (aka, Unemployed), for about 2 .5 months. She is trying to crawl. She’s trying to learn about sippy cups. She’s learning to chew. She’s learning language. She’s just doing all kinds of things.
But didn’t I just have her? Wasn’t it just a week or so ago that I was at the doctor, and she was sending me over to the hospital to have the baby? Wasn’t it just a few days ago that we brought her home?
No of course not. That was last Summer. It’s April. It’s another year.
Wasn’t it just the other day that I was sitting at my desk working on some computer code?
Nope. Not even. 2.5 months ago.
Even now, today. It’s Wednesday evening. WEDNESDAY. I swear yesterday was Saturday. Each week seems to fly by. But I’m not wishing the weeks away like I used to. No…I feel like I AM present in my days and enjoying my time. And yet…every day, we’re up around 8am, breakfast, time in the exersaucer while Mommy eats breakfast….Sprout, Barney, Thomas the Tank Engine….naptime & laundry….clothing change and time to play with the baby toys on the floor….lunch…Caillou, Sesame Street….naptime…
Before I know it each day, it’s 3pm, H is getting her mid-afternoon bottle, I’m starting to think about dinner, and waiting for D to call that he’s on his way home. In the blink of an eye, we’re putting H to bed and heading to bed ourselves.
How is it that time is just flitting past? I feel like the only thing I can do is pull out the camera to record our life so I can look back on it and remember. Because it’s just going by WAY too fast.