A Sneaky Thief Named Time

GiaB prompt #2–2 time

“The days are long, but the years are short,” a person once said to me soon after I had my first child. I was confused then, but eight years and another child later, I understand. The days are long, and the years are short.

There are some days, deep in the trenches of parenting two young boys that time can’t move fast enough. Long days peppered with bickering, whining, endless snacks, and constant interruptions. There are days I feel like I can’t hear myself think. There are days when though I have just gotten out of bed, I am already hoping for it to be bedtime so I can have space. I wish this day would end. Time can’t move fast enough. The days are long.

Other days, when I watch my eight-year-old walk down the street by himself to the bus stop, I wonder where the time went. When my five-year-old heads to school on the bus for the first time, the excitement over no more daycare expenses mixes with feelings that I have lost my baby. Soon enough they will be driving away in their cars, no longer reliant on me to get through the day. Time will work me out of their lives; take them from me. I hope they always need me. I don’t know where the time has gone. The years are short.