Dear Time,
I had a baby 3 months ago. He was a good size baby. For a DeWitt. Weighing in at 7 pounds, 5 ounces and 19 3/4 inches in length, he was the heavy weight of the DeWitt children. He is now around 15 pounds (best guess). He's huge. And he is no longer a newborn. Some twisted part of me wants to reverse time and put him back inside so that I can enjoy pregnancy and his being new again. I want him to stop growing. Time, I want you to stop. You are moving so quickly.
Not only are you making a real baby out of Truman, you are making big kids of Madeline, Sawyer, and Eamon. I look at my children and derive pure joy from their existence....most of the time. Like 95% of the time. A new record for me. Apparently 4 children was the magic number for me. My joy just keeps multiplying. I want you to slow down so that I can absorb and enjoy each moment. Every moment seems to be filled with wonder and magic. I am truly lucky. An older woman friend with adult daughters once said to me, "I would give everything I have just to spend one more day with my girls as 5 and 6 year olds; just to hear them ask me a million questions and listen to them argue with each other. I would just love to hear their laughter in the backseat one more time." This admission from her brings tears to my eyes and makes me regret every single solitary moment that I have found my children to be annoying or a chore. They are a gift, I'm not sure where from, and deserve my respect and attention. Please slow down, Time. Please let me have the gift of soaking up every moment of Truman's babyhood. Please let me revel in every moment of Madeline being an incredibly caring and responsible 8 year old. Give me a few extra minutes to watch Sawyer dance, sing, pretend, and imagine pink sparkles and rainbows hanging around the neck of the purple pony in her dreams. Let me have an extra hour to cook dinner and watch Eamon work meticulously at writing letters while he engages in his personal narrative, out loud for me to hear. Time, please slow down. There is no substitute for youth. There is no substitute for this magical time. Please slow down. I promise to sleep EVEN LESS than I do. I promise to not yell or get frustrated. I promise to consider each day a gift that can be taken away at any moment. Please just stretch the years out a little. As we all see when we look back; the days are long but the years are so very short.
My Cup Runneth Over,
Katie
