How many times did you hear, “Enjoy this time, it flies by!” while holding your newborn baby in your arms? So many. Too many. And alas, it flew by. In the thick of it, you are tired and frustrated and you don’t know how to fix anything. But then — poof! — just like that, it’s over. And, oh, how I long to hold a newborn baby in my arms. I forget how hard it was. I forget the tears about not knowing what to do, and the exhaustion from such little sleep. When I look back, all I remember is the way the soft skin of their feet felt, or the feeling like my heart might explode with this new love I’d never felt before. I remember the nights I spent with their heads nuzzled to my chest and rocking them singing Three Little Birds.
As we approach these days and weeks, I am going to try to challenge myself to get it right this time. I’m going to try so hard to not get swept away in the despair of it all: the uncertainty, the questions, the frustrations and honestly, the fear. No matter how we look at it, all of that will be there either way.
This time is short. There will be an end to this. There will be a time when we look back on this as a distant memory. I am going to try to do everything I can to enjoy this time, because it flies by.
I am going to enjoy that I got a spring break camping staycation with my kids and taught my middle one how to cast a fishing rod and cuddled up in a sleeping bag looking at the stars. I will forget that I had to cancel a few vacations to faraway destinations.
I will enjoy seeing our community come together for the greater good and all the little things everyone did to help and love each other. I will forget that this meant my kids couldn’t go down the street to play with their friends.
I will enjoy the messages shared in Facebook live church sessions on Sundays in a time when I needed hope and comfort. I will forget that we didn’t get the fellowship of being together in person.
I will enjoy things like Drew and Ellie Holcomb’s live shows from their home and the good feelings that hearing their music brought me. I will forget the canceled shows and festivals and refunded tickets.
I will (let’s be honest, here) enjoy the takeout liquor laws and gallon of margaritas I got to pick up and take home and enjoy when a few well-timed cocktails were just what the doctor ordered. I will forget the many date nights and girls’ nights that didn’t happen.
I will enjoy the way the days went by slowly and how I got to just be with my family. I will forget that the kids didn’t get their baseball and softball seasons.
I will enjoy watching healthcare workers’ bravery and selflessness in treating sick patients. I’ll forget the agony some of these choices had to bring to their families.
I will enjoy getting to see my kids just be and hearing their thoughts and dreams and fears, and actually having the time to listen. I’ll forget the sad feeling that I haven’t had more time to do this in the past.
I will enjoy that the water was smooth, the roads were empty, the days were long, I got to hold my kids so close, life was so precious, strangers were friends, that I just got so much precious time, and it all went by so, so fast.
I’ll forget that I was so scared, that things felt uncertain, that I felt impatient, that life felt so fragile, or that tears fell so freely.
This will be over. We are doing this for a purpose, and there will be a time when we look back on all of this and think about what it felt like. Our kids will talk about a time when their school was cancelled, and they couldn’t play sports and they just hung out at home because of a tiny virus we didn’t really understand. We will be back to work, back to taking trips, back to hugs, and nights out with friends. But until then, enjoy this time. It flies by, you know.
