This morning, I found myself stepping over dog toys on my way to the kitchen. I've been picking up toys for what feels like an eternity.
But today there's this crazy, empty kind of feeling as I tossed the toys in the basket. When our children were small it seemed like a constant whirlwind of activity that seamlessly blended from one stage to the next without a moment to catch my breath
Constant feedings and sleepless nights
Chasing toddlers, trying to keep them out of harm's way
Filling out permission slips; packing lunches
Chauffering from one practice to another
Late nights wondering if she'll be home in time for curfew
Hoping he will make wise judgments when away at college
At first, I was so grateful for the glimpses of quiet that were so few and far between I welcomed them with open arms. I didn't even notice the whirlwind of activity was gradually dying down.
Until it had just stopped.
And now I only find myself picking up dog toys.
This empty hole I find in my chest feels so uncomfortable. So peculiar. We got married at a very young age and had our first child immediatley. I went from taking care of my younger brother and sister at home to taking care of my own children. I've never known life without the constant hum of activity.
And it feels foreign.
People used to tell me "they grow up in a flash," and I remember thinking how absurd that sounded when the days felt so long. But the twist is the years are ridiculously short.
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