Well, I was a morning person before kids. I could bound up with ease, content to rise gradually with the soft sounds of birdsong over an iced coffee and the easing hum of SportsCenter in the background. I embraced the stillness and potential of the day ahead.
It’s different now. My youngest daughter recently reminded me that no one watches TV anymore and stillness sucks. Instead of the hours I could be wrapping up a much-needed REM cycle, she has me chasing her around the house trying not to wake the rest of the family. And yes, I will take one more cup of coffee, please.
She got out of the crib for the first time a few weeks ago. Thunk. I squinted into the baby monitor’s blurry night vision, trying to discern human from stuffed animal. “Hi!” she startled me, appearing in the living room — a staircase, hallway and closed door away from her crib. “I got dressed! And I got out!”
Naturally, I flipped her bedroom lock and turned down the monitor volume over the next few days. “You can read with your stuffies and play quietly with your toys,” I say. “But no crying or screaming until daddy says good morning or you’ll wake everyone up.” She never keeps her promise.
So we greet the new day together, me nodding off on the couch and her poking her finger in my eye to ensure I’m always having fun. This part is hard, but having done it twice before, I know it’s temporary.
Kind of like a lot of things with kids. They’re an ever-evolving, constantly changing ball of Play-Doh, picking up everything it touches. With my bonus morning time, I’ve started thinking deeper about how we all evolve through life, namely the milestones we celebrate as well as those that go virtually unnoticed.
This summer, that same daughter will likely move to a “big girl” bed, toilet train and prepare for preschool — that’s a lot for a kid born a few days before the Barbenheimer craze. I can’t imagine what she is going through, trying to physically learn completely foreign skills while emotionally dealing with continued failure and seismic change happening all around her.
And then snap, they just get it. The hours and days of transition seem to take forever in the moment. But in the bigger picture, the change is rapid and they’re on to the next challenge. Completing kindergarten, winning the state title, graduating high school, moving out of the house, finding the path to unlimited happiness and serenity. Maybe not the last one for some time, but you get the point.
Milestones are everywhere. When we’re young, they happen all the time and there’s usually cake. My kid went potty at a local restaurant (inside the bathroom) and I squealed with joy. Boy, did it scare the guy in the next stall! Then we got two scoops of chocolate to recognize the achievement.
As we get older, the celebrations may slow, but I’m realizing the accomplishments don’t stop. They’re just harder to see. Patience, for one, is a personal trait I’ve vastly improved since I got a new alarm that wears footie pajamas and loves Blippi before breakfast.
My older girls challenge me to be better every day, too, pushing me to skip the self-deprecating shtick and learn a new hobby. Instead of saying “I’m not good at that,” I’ve learned to be more open, opting for “I’m not good at that yet.” So far, I’m not good at brewing my own beer, DIY home projects or yoga … yet.
Maybe one day, we’ll celebrate that, too. And while the ice cream is great, the moments are better. Another accomplishment I’m working on — trying to be present for every milestone, both physically and mentally, because they’re never guaranteed.
I’ll enjoy mornings at my own pace soon enough, and I’m sure these days will be missed. The milestones, too, will never look the same, as the jump from toddlers to teens is remarkably short. For now, I’ll make the most of the moment, cherishing the time I get with my daughter at any hour of the day.
But, please, one more cup of coffee.
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