I took my 3 year old to the tennis courts the other day, hoping to play a game or two with a friend. I had spent the last 5 days potty training her, cleaning closets and meeting deadlines. I was ready to see the sunlight, get a little "ME" time. My daughter brought her toys and had a buddy waiting on the sidelines to play. But upon arrival, this didn't seem to stop the full fledged meltdown she conjured up, as I tried to detach her from my neck. Any other day, we're two peas in a pod, hanging out, easy breezy. But not this day.
Just as the melt down escalated to an ear piercing, almost so loud only dogs could hear, a well meaning guy walked up and said: "One day, you're gonna miss this moment." I gave him the evil eye and said: "Uh, no I won't." He continually insisted that I would. At that point, I felt it best to walk away, before he un-expectantly got a dent in his forehead.
I wanted to say, "Hey, why don't you babysit for a moment on the sidelines and let me know how it goes?"
While I tried to embrace the concept, that one day I would miss the fact that she wants to be held, I couldn't help but think: True, but I won't miss the screaming, the high pitched guttural, death-grip around my neck that has now left a mark. I won't miss the screaming so loud, she wakes up the neighborhood, as if she's being chased by a snake or attacked by wolves.
It's like saying, You'll miss giving birth one day. No, No, I'm pretty sure I won't. I will look back and be glad I birthed children, that I raised children, but the day to day, potty training, loosing kids in Target as they hide in clothes racks, feeding kids that say: I HATE IT - after cooking for 2 hours in a hot kitchen - listening to them fight over a tic tac and a toy no one seemed to care about a week ago. Nope, I'm pretty sure I won't miss that.
Growing up, I was quite the sassy-talking teenager; independent - spoke my mine. Lets just say I was high-spirited. I'm sure I gave my parents most of their grey hair. A while back, my dad and I were sitting peacefully by the lake when he said: "You were such an easy child to raise. Pure joy." Now, I'm not sure what he was drinking or if reflection seems to muddle the water. When we look back, we take all the yucky, the hard-ache, the pain and madness out of the equation, and reflect only upon the good. If that's the case, I'm sure I'll miss the little-ness, the hugs, the laughs, the pitter patter of foot steps, games of tags and reflect fondly upon all the all those wonderful times we had at the tennis courts. So, cheers dad, for forgetting the bad and choosing only to see the good! Oh and, what were you drinking again? Here's to embracing all of life's moments: the good, the bad and the muddled.