I’m being assaulted by a constant barrage of milestones at the moment, all screaming at me that time is moving forward forever and that my babies are growing every second. There’s no stopping it, and one day I’m going to blink and they’ll be fully grown and it will just be me and Adam and Bea and cats. My life is hurtling towards the inevitable decades I will spend trying to fill the hole in my heart with a shitload of cats.
It is possible that I am a little emotional about August turning three and starting preschool in the span of a few days. It’s not helping that Halligan also feels like she’s minutes away from talking and walking and watering down my booze. I want to know how it’s possible that every minute after 5pm is the longest minute of my life until Adam comes home from work, but it also feels like I snapped my fingers back in May and suddenly it’s today and I have a four-month old?
All day on August’s third birthday, I was squeezing him every chance I got; willing him to not grow one more millimeter in my hug. The whole day was filled with things he loves. Mostly sugar and artificial food dyes. The kid looooves some blue food. Then we had a party for him with all of his friends (ie. all of our friends and their kids) at a local creative play place. It was the kind of party where all I had to do was say “We want this many pizzas,” and then show up, watch my kid have a blast, eat the pizza and some box mix cupcakes, and come home. Fuck Pinterest. That is how to party.
Without any time to recover from one milestone, we charged head first ahead into preschool. August is totally ready for preschool; his favorite activity is using his alphabet puzzle to spell words with Adam. And mostly, I am ready for him to be in preschool because he needs to have some time away from me to do his thing and he needs some socialization that doesn’t involve me swooping in when there’s a conflict. He needs to learn playground survival and make friends of his own and learn how to be a regular dude and I kind of need to be forced to let him do all of that and to have some experiences. I’m not a helicopter parent by any means, but I could stand to step back.
If August had been born three days later, he wouldn’t be starting school for another year. So it feels a tad premature because it’s literally three days short of being a little early to just let shit happen. I get bummed when my kid gets hurt or when another kid is being a dick or when my kid is the one being a dick. When I see something happening, I tend to intervene too much when I should probably be starting to let him figure some basic shit out. So preschool affords me the opportunity to step away and let August be himself with other kids, so they can all figure out how not to be dicks, together. And then I get a cute drawing or he sings me a new song or something when I pick him up.
And while I get anxious that time is going by too quickly, having an infant again reminds me that time can still go by painfully slowly on occasion. I shouldn’t be freaking out that everything is happening so fast or that everything is creeping along, because that shit is relative and I’m going to find something wrong with it either way. I’ll just be glad I’m not dead yet. There’s no pizza when you’re dead.