“How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?”
― Dr. Seuss
On a Saturday afternoon during my daughter’s Spring Break, we decided to explore the sand dunes between California and Arizona. We parked our car, she kicked open the door and raced toward the mounds of sand. I stood in the distance and witnessed her shuffling from one dune to another. I snapped this photograph of her darting ahead. Her feet sank as she moved forward. I watched as she maneuvered to gain momentum to take her next step.
I felt her same angst, trying to keep up, but the sand swallowed my flip-flops and my heart. My insides felt enveloped by the layer of complicated emotions that come with moving forward and of time passing as fast as a cannonball shooting out of its home. The path between the beginning and end happens so swiftly you are uncertain that you ever witnessed it.
That’s what I am feeling with my daughter in the middle of her eighth year. The refrain from Dr. Seuss rings in my head, “How did it get so late so soon?”
Unlike those days of young mothering, I am conscious of my daughter’s milestones. As a new mother, I failed to realize how those sleepless nights and frenzy-filled days transformed into this eight-year-old girl discovering her personal dazzle and having opinions, thoughts, and ideas of her own. I admit it is hard to digest. In two years, she will move into double digits. This thought lingers as I witness her various activities and thoughts. This week she performed in a play at school and although the music and dancing were upbeat, my eyes couldn’t help what my heart sensed. I wiped tears as she smiled. When she asks questions, they delve into areas that require a more thoughtful answer. Earlier this month, she asked about metamorphosis and its meaning. The question surprised me. I have a young daughter asking about metamorphosis. And then the refrain happened again, “How did it get so late so soon?”
Yesterday I looked at a picture on our mantel. It is a picture of me holding my daughter at two weeks. I look younger, but tired. My eyes are focused on my little girl, but that new mother could not fathom how fast the trajectory of time moves. With that thought, my daughter sped by on her razor and circled the circumference of our living room. As she gravitated toward another part of the house, she said, “Look, Momma. Look, how fast I am going.”
I nodded and told her, “That’s awesome.” But inside, I said, “How did it get so late so soon?”
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
So beautifully written Rudri 🙂 It’s true time flies – you never realize that when they’re born. During that time you just think about how sleep deprived you are, when their next set of shots are due, are they eating enough? You never realize how quickly they’ll be asking more complex questions and being their own person. Time flies. Have a great weekend Rudri! -Iva
Thanks, Iva. You are right. When you are in those beginning moments, you never realize that you are propelling forward to a different place. As she gets older, I learn to hold on and linger on those moments.
Among throngs of relatives and friends as we celebrated my father’s life this weekend…this question went through my head all day. I admit it wasn’t Seuss’s quote, but I was wondering where the time had gone.
Those moments when you are remembering a loved one’s life really put time into focus. I hope you and your family reminisced over some of the more happier times with your father this past weekend. I sometimes get so caught up in my grief that I forget I had years of so much joy and love that I shared with my father. Sending hugs, my friend.
Yes…a lovely capture. The older we get, the more we realize how swiftly it goes by. I love the picture. Enjoy every minute it does indeed go by so fast.
I plan to savor every minute, Ayala. This snapshot is one of my faves, too.
We are so in the same boat in our struggles with this, Rudri, and you always capture the complexity of the emotions so well. My son turned double digits a couple of months ago and all I keep thinking is that he is now more than halfway through his time here at home with us. His school portraits came back yesterday, and I quickly scanned his other school portraits that we have in our living room from years past. In each picture I can see his face changing shape, even though we never notice the differences in our day-to-day.
If we knew our children would be with us, physically, for the rest of our lives, there wouldn’t be this feeling that we are raising them toward a “deadline” and that growing up means time running out.