Time.

I've been thinking for some time now that I ought to document what happens during our weekends.  Mostly just so I can remember the little details of our all-too-short two days of work-less freedom together.  But also because I've really come to appreciate weekends even more so now that I have a husband who does not have to work through them, and a son that thinks his parents are the two greatest people on earth (except for when they are denying him goldfish crackers for breakfast).

Lately (like as in the past two years) I've felt as though time is going even faster than it used to.  I get up in the morning, race to get Nick dressed and ready, throw some grubby clothes on my own body, usher Nick out the door and into the car, drive him to daycare, rush back home, plop down in front of my computer, and before I know it I'm so completely immersed in travel planning, scheduling, and PowerPoint presentations that it's time to head back out to pick him up from daycare.  And it doesn't stop there -- I pick him up, either head back home, or run some much needed errands, and then it's home just in time for dinner, bath, and bedtime before falling onto the couch to watch mindless reality TV for two hours before heading upstairs to pass out in bed next to my hubby who has already been snoozing for an hour and I'm left laying there with the wheels in my head turning at rapid speed trying to comprehend just how and why the last 24 hours passed quicker than I could even pause long enough to wash my hair or empty the dishwasher.  Where is the time going??  

The other night Todd and I sat on the couch together flipping through old videos of Nick on our cell phones.  Video's of him as a baby.  A baby that just cooed and giggled.  A baby learning to sit up.  A baby learning to stand on his own - to push a walking toy - to walk unassisted.  A baby learning to eat solid foods and clap.  And it took everything in me to not dissolve into a puddle of tears. At one point Todd had to say "don't cry honey!" to which I couldn't help but reply "do you ever feel like we missed Nick being a baby?"  And I was actually surprised to hear Todd say "yes." 

And now we know more than ever before that we're ready for another baby.

When Nick was an infant, we spent so much of our time worrying about whether or not we were "doing things right", that neither of us feel as though we really spent the appropriate amount of time just enjoying him being a baby.  We spent so much time panicking about getting him fed on his set schedule and making sure he was home in time for bed.  Worrying about letting him cry it out versus sleeping in our bed.  Worrying about putting him in too many layers, or not enough layers for bed.  I often look back at pictures of Nick at 6, 7, 8 months old and think "I feel like it went so fast...I didn't get to just relish in him being so little". 

And I know this is common - especially with your first baby - especially when you've never been around babies before - to just be worried that you're even keeping them alive properly.  But there's just so many times that I wish we could rewind a bit.  Keep our 6 month old up just a bit past his bedtime so we can watch him fall asleep on our shoulders in a crowded restaurant, as people ooh and ahh over his cuteness.  Run to check on our crying 3 month old at 3 am, just to spend an extra 30 minutes gazing down at his sweet face as he finishes his bottle.  Ignoring the sheer exhaustion and just embracing how much it's all worth it.

I feel like I'm going to wake up tomorrow and Nick is going to be kissing me goodbye as he runs to the school bus.  Sitting me down at the kitchen table to help with his English homework (because Lord knows his dad will be helping with the math homework).  Asking me for permission to drive my car to take his girlfriend to the school dance.  Graduating high school.  Leaving home to go to college.  Getting married.  Having his own kids. 

I can't even think about it.

Then again, one day when Nick has his own kids, and my main worry will no longer be keeping the babies on schedule, but instead smothering them with love and kisses and tickling an 8 month old until he can hardly breathe from so much giggling...then maybe I'll feel like I truly get to enjoy a baby for just what it is -- a baby.  I guess that's why my parents love being grandparents so much.  All the enjoyment, none of the responsibility.

But I'm just not ready to think about any of the above.  I need time to slow down.  I need to make the time to relish in all things two-years-old.  Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that he will never be this age again. 

I once thought the quote "the days are long, but the years are far too short" applied to us.  But now I'm not so sure.  I feel as though the days are far too short, and the years pass far too quickly.  But such is life.  And we have no choice but to make the most of every second we are given here on earth.  So please excuse me for ending this here, but I have to take a cute little red headed toddler to the playground -- and spend some time going down the slides and playing in the dirt with him.  Because once this moment has passed, I know I won't get it back.