Last week was Parker's first birthday and I have to say, I found myself completely consumed with nostalgia the entire week. The Blue Angels were flying and I was remembering the exact sequence of events the year before, last time the Blue Angels were buzzing our home. With Scott I went through everything we were doing at that time last year: "This is when we realized I was in labor." "Now it's noon, by noon we were in the delivery room!" "This is when I was ready to start pushing!" "Now we were holding him, and remember how he was SO TIIINY???" My eyes start to sting even now when I think about how such a tiny guy could trigger such an overwhelming tidal wave of love on the day he first arrived into our world. Since then, there have been so many firsts- his first smile (6 weeks), his first laugh, his first airline flight (now he is up to his 6th!), his first time sitting up, eating solid food (avocado), first time crawling, first words, and on and on and on, now most recently his first birthday with his first official sugar high.
Less pronounced and noticeable than all the firsts have been all the "lasts." I've always found it interesting how firsts happen with a certain amount of fanfare, and sometimes photographic recall, but the lasts pass by almost imperceptibly at the time, until all of a sudden you realize that something you used to do or have is just over. I think that is why the nostalgia around his first birthday really caught me off guard, because besides being another big first, it was also a graduation of sorts, a time to look back at all these 'lasts'. I looked back at his tiny little outfits, and wondered, when was the last time he wore that? He's also outgrown some of his toys, like his jumperoo, which he loved so much for so many months. When was the last time he used it? Did I even notice? Which day exactly did he wake up and cross that divide from the tiny infant chubbalump I see in his old photos to this little pre-kindergarten boy that looks up at me now?
Then, just as my mind wheels on these questions, I take it a step further. I think about the things that I do with him now, things I love so much, and wonder how many more times I have left before he outgrows them. Like holding him in the rocker, fast asleep, feeling like a tea bag of love is steeping on my shoulder, and just soaking him up. Or snuggling in bed all together. When will be the last morning that we all do that as a family? Or just plain picking him up and carrying him around. When was the very last time my own mom carried me? Will I know to hug him for a few extra seconds before the last time I put him on the ground?
I'm not sure why I think this way exactly, or why catching these moments while they're happening would somehow feel better than remembering them in retrospect. I guess it's like when I was in Maui, and I tried unsuccessfully for about thirty minutes to drive underneath a rainbow. I found out that you can never really catch up to one. By nature, a rainbow is always either in front of you or behind you. But even if it was futile, just chasing it seemed to make its beauty last a little bit longer. I have a feeling that parenting is going to consist of a lot of trying to catch these moments of fleeting beauty, and, like fireflies in a jar, remembering not to keep them too long. I'll have to work on striking the balance between holding on and letting grow.
