Two days from the time you read this, I’ll be the proud parent of a bona-fide 5-year-old.
I don’t know precisely why, but 5 years sounds so much older than 4. Maybe it’s that I can no longer call him a toddler, or a preschooler, or any one of those terms that sounds so much less intimidating that simply “boy.”
But that’s what he is — a real, live, impish, growing-like-a-weed boy — and that’s great. Although sometimes I look at him lately and wonder how this gangling, tall creature grew from that tiny, chubby baby with the blond mohawk.
Five years? Can’t be. No way. It must have been yesterday. It must have been forever.
A few days ago, I commented on the fact to my husband, who simply responded with, “Wow.”
“I can’t even remember what life was like before that,” he said after a moment. “Can you?”
We looked at each other.
“We must have had so time,” I said. “What did we do with all of it?”
I know for a fact that it never felt like I had much time. It always seemed there was far too little. Too little for what? What did we do when there weren’t noses to be wiped, toys to pick up, meals to oversee (rather than just eat), “Sesame Street” to be watched, shoving matches to referee?
I started thinking about it. And while I’m still not sure that I can account for all the time I used to have, I know what I used to do the most.
Five years ago:
• I used to go for long walks alone this time of year, admiring the leaves and enjoying autumn.
Now, I go for short walks, accompanied by two small helpers. We stop to inspect bugs, collect leaves and watch doggies. Go figure, though ... these walks usually take up at least twice the amount of time.
• I used to read a lot. Maybe a book or two a week, sometimes more.
Now, I read several books a day, sometimes as many as 10 to 20. Of course, now they have titles like “Little Quack’s Hide and Seek” and “Big Bird Learns About Shapes.”
I think I’ve been reading the same “grown-up” book for about a month now. I seem to be falling asleep each night before I get more than a page or two ahead.
• I used to spend hours cooking meals on the odd nights my husband and I were both home at the same time (love those night shifts). I had my esoteric list of spices to restock from time to time, and my favorite ingredient was seafood, especially shrimp.
Now I have the oh-so-valuable short list of “things-my-kids-like-that-take-less-than-half-an-hour-to-prepare.” Oh, and they don’t like shrimp. That’s reserved for those rare “just-mommy-and-daddy” meals.
• I used to watch a lot of movies, mostly science-fiction and action. What we didn’t see in the theater, we’d rent at home — or buy if it was good enough for frequent viewing.
Now, I’ve had the same film out from Netflix for about two months. And it’s “Wall-E.” However, I’ve beaten the previous year’s tally for movies seen at the theater — three this year, up from one the year before.
And I don’t think I’ve watched my favorite movie on DVD once this year. I’ve seen the same episode of “Elmo’s World” about 10 times this week, though.
• I used to think that eight hours of sleep was the bare minimum to stay functional.
Now ... well, all I can do is laugh at that.
Do I miss those days when I could spend hours just reading, walking, cooking, sleeping? Sure. Parenthood is exhausting. My husband says that if it isn’t, you’re not doing it right.
But one thing I can say for sure: Nothing I did before that day five years ago was anywhere near as rewarding as the big grin I get every night when my son climbs up beside me with a book and asks, “Read, Momma?”
Happy birthday, Jimmy.
Jill Keppeler is a page designer for the Tonawanda News. She can be reached at jill.keppeler@tonawanda-news.com.
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