I was watching my soon-to-be 4 year old son play with his LeapPad this morning. He had just put aside another hand-held electronic toy (his Pixter) and was passing the time as he waited for his grandparents to pick him up for their movie date.
Suddenly four seemed much too old. Of course it's not. In the grand scheme of things, four is but a beginning. It's the preface of a lifetime.
And yet in this moment, four was seeming well on the way to "growing up."
It made me stop and take inventory. Four years ago today I was counting down the days until my maternity leave began - it would be just two more weeks of work. I was thinking about how my first child, my long awaited, prayed for, begged for son was due in just one month. I was thinking pregnancy would never end.
Eight years ago today I was packing boxes and getting ready to move into an actual house. I was scrubbing floors in the crappy apartment and wondering how much scrubbing the new floors would require on move in day. I was hardly thinking about when we'd start our family. The house was just one step towards getting there.
Nine years ago, I was returning to work after my honeymoon. I was settling back into the apartment and the job I had started just before the wedding. I was answering to a new name. I was keeping house and making shopping lists and being all sorts of grown-up. I was wondering if we'd have kids some day and what they'd look like.
And then here we sit, in the present. The here and now. I look back to those days and marvel at how much my life has changed. So often I don't feel quite grown-up yet and yet I am. I see myself grow each time my children do. A little milestone for them means one more for me.
We're all growing. Inching forward. Bit by bit. Inch by inch. Moment by moment.