Air thick with both wonder and loss

Last Friday the 1st grade performed their annual movement and music assembly, which this year was called the Arctic Blast.  It seems like moments ago that I sat in the audience watching Grace in her 1st grade assembly (Musicians of the Sun), the morning after I threw a surprise birthday dinner for Matt.  We sat in the same gym, our heads telling the story of the night before’s raucous toasts, and while I remember feeling sentimental I was surely not as crushingly overwhelmed with time’s passage was this time.

Probably it’s because Whit is my last baby.  Perhaps part of it is that with each year, each week, each day, I seem to grow more porous, my awareness of life’s beauty and heartbreak.  Maybe it was just the afternoon.  I don’t know, but I sat there on the metal folding chair with tears rolling down my cheeks.  It’s as though the passage of time was in the room with us.

The air was so thick with both wonder and loss that I almost couldn’t breathe.  I marveled at my son.  My son, who just two seconds ago was one of those tiny almost-babies in the pre-K class who sat restlessly on mats on the floor.  My son, who just two days ago was born, his blond hair, his blue eyes, and his boy-ness all shocking me in equal measure.

I am a broken record, these days, I know.  But I cannot stop my astonishment at how swiftly it’s flying, at how vivid the colors of this life are as they blur past my eyes.

You know what else, though?  I don’t want to.


Get Lindsey's thoughts on mindful living and parenting in your inbox

2 Comments

  1. Posted February 28, 2012 at 8:13 am | Permalink

    I get a lump in my throat just reading this. I know exactly what you mean as I have my one baby, now a kindergartener, and I see the round babyness of her face falling away incrementally each day, her language skills improving and treasured mispronounced words are now said correctly. Motherhood is nothing if not eye opening to the passage of time. It seems to me you are not a broken record, you are just fully awake my friend. xoxo

  2. Jill Resnick
    Posted February 28, 2012 at 10:52 am | Permalink

    I just last night transitioned my baby into a bed. As my husband positioned it snuggly underneath big sister’s loft, I stood detached. But when I checked on him before I went to sleep last night, I was heartbroken to see him sprawled across the mattress, arms outstretched. So much less secure, unboundaried, I am so much more aware of the growing up this time around.
    Thank you for shining light on these moments to help me make sense of them.