I love fall. When you can smell the leaves instead of the grass. When the wind is more blustery than breezy. When you relish the sun’s warmth on your face rather than hide from it.
Big life events tend to happen to me in the fall. It makes me nostalgic for the start of a new school year. Fall reminds me of when I met and fell in love with Steve. Gosh, 17 years ago. It reminds me of when we bought our first home together and when we brought home Buddha. Oddly, major career changes would take place for me around September. And before I know it, it’s my birthday in October - the dawn of a new age.
Since the pandemic started and Bubba was born, fall reminds me that everything is temporary. I’m learning to soak up the little things. Bub’s vocabulary is getting better each day. He’s saying “yes” and “more” with real intention. He tries to repeat the words we say and was really close to saying “banana” the other day. At the park, he is more opinionated about when he wants to slide down the slide or swing on the swings. I can no longer plop him where I want him.
I’m reminded that babies don’t stay babies. Nobody has to tell me how quickly they grow up because I know. It’s happening right before my very eyes and while I’m heartbroken I can’t freeze time, I’m in awe of the transformation I get to witness. How he learned to do a somersault. The way he picks himself back up after a tumble. He is so cute it hurts. It hurts because I know he won’t be this cute forever. Next fall, he will be speaking in full sentences and running faster than I can catch him.
Despite the beauty of watching him grow, I wasn’t expecting the transition into toddlerhood to require so much patience and true parenting. There are moments when he’s throwing a tantrum and I literally do not know what to do. Sometimes, I say or do the wrong thing. Other times, I’m able to help him understand. When I get fed up and overreact, I feel like a horrible mother and I beat myself up for not being perfect. But toddlers, they are so gracious, so forgiving. He doesn’t know what perfection means. Maybe to him, I am perfect. He never stops loving me, no matter what my behavior or reaction is. He gives me grace. Why can’t I give myself some?
When big emotions happen, whether it’s me or him, I’m reminded to slow down. To take a breath. To let him figure out how to put on his shoes. To let him watch tree branches in the wind. To let us both observe the little things.
After all, it’s the little things that build meaning in our lives.
“There is no such thing as a perfect parent so just be a real one.”
Every day, I hit the ground running. Harder than I ever thought I could. I throw up my hair in a scrunchie, put on my running rotation of sweats, and barely pause to look in the mirror. I tell myself that I should make an effort, to make myself happy. But then, I hear a little voice call for “mama” and I run to it.
I have to remind myself that this is just a season of life. That raising this kiddo is just a blip in my lifetime. It’ll pass by in the blink of an eye, and I know I’ll miss it so very much. I pray that the hustle, the worrying, the exhaustion - that it’s all worth it. That some day when he’s older, he’ll think back on his childhood and remember it with joy and fondness. When we’re sitting around the dinner table years from here and my hair is completely gray and I’m moving a little slower, I hope we laugh and relive the beautiful memories we’re creating right now.
