As I grow older, I find that the things I used to think were urgent are no longer so. I find that my priorities have changed, hopefully for the better.
My little Catie, now 11 weeks old, makes me realize this.
I was 24 when I had my first baby. As any good mother, I was concerned about scheduling her feedings, her naps, my housework, and so many other things. I was anxious to get her eating food by 4 months, and holding her own sippy cup by the same time. She needed to sleep through the night by 6 months. I wanted to make sure she was completely potty trained by age 2. She needed to be reading smoothly by age 6, and doing her times tables by age 8.
I felt just as urgent with my next two. But what stress I caused myself! I wish I had just slowed down and paid more attention to their cute little smiles, their coos and giggles, rocked them more, and let the housework slide.
With my last two, I have become more aware of what’s most important. As I hold Catie and admire her sausage-like fat rolls, and stroke her soft hair, and let her sleep on my lap, I can’t help but feel almost panicky at the thought that I can’t remember much about these times with my older kids. I know I had them, but I think I was so caught up in the busy-ness of my daily life, that I didn’t take time to enjoy the moment.
I’m inching ever closer to age 40, and noticing just how quickly children grow up. I don’t want to waste their childhood worrying about things that are unimportant in the long run.
What’s important is that they know they are loved. I think the rest falls into place in God’s good time.
So I’m praying that God will slow down the clock (or, at least that I will slow down myself) and make sure that I don’t look back with regret on these times that God has given me. My children are a blessing, and I don’t want to race fly blindly past any blessings God has for me.