My son was nestled in my lap last night, slumbering at last, while I trolled the Internet for entertainment. Somewhere in a moment between status updates on Facebook and searching for shirts on oldnavy.com, I felt a gentle nudge on my arm. I looked down, and he was awake, his eyes as round and bright as twin moons shining in the pearly glow of the laptop screen. His mouth bent and stretched into a smile, and he poked me again.
“Hey Mama, cyberspace can wait.” “But there’s a really good sale that ends tomorrow, and if I want to save 15% on all clearance items, I have to order NOW.”
Sometimes, I have to force myself to remember that this — all of this — is not forever. No matter what. Whether I skim over these moments in haste, or saturate myself in every poignant second, nothing will stay the same. Somewhere, in between stressing and (not) sleeping, in between being and breathing, in between power struggles and cooking dinner, tiny changes add up. They lose their belly-rolls, and their legs grow strong and sturdy, and suddenly, they’re out of diapers, starting school, taking ballet class and playing soccer, whirling and twirling into grownups. And suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, they’ll be growing their own families, struggling to hold onto sanity and sleep, while we go on trips to the Wine Country as our wrinkles dig down deep. And eventually — suddenly — we will all become old, marked with the eternal etchings of a life forever and ever spent thinking about tomorrow.
So, I stared at my son, stunned by the weight of his body against mine, by the changes that have already taken over while I wasn’t paying attention. And so I shut the laptop.
Sarah is an L.A. expat growing roots in Israel. She shares her adventures at Kveller.com and Jezebel.com.
