When people ask me how old my kids are I have this bad habit of framing it in terms of how old they will be, instead of how old they are. I often say “He will be three in June,” instead of “Two and a half,” or even just “Two”.  As soon as they have a birthday I’m already thinking ahead to the next one, thinking in terms of the next milestone.

There are several problems with this little foible. First, it creates false expectations. I expect Kieran to behave and function like a three year old long before he turns three because I am subconsciously thinking of him as a three year old. Any parent will tell you there can be a big difference between a two year old and a three year old. Or a two-years-and-nine-months year old (his age right now) and a three year old. Or even between two three year olds. I’m all for believing in my kids, encouraging them to stretch and grow and exceed expectations, even for gently pushing them when it’s appropriate. But it’s not fair to them to have a mother who constantly expects them to behave like an older child or communicate and understand concepts beyond their years.

Which brings me to the second problem: it’s not fair to me either. I’m an idealist. I always have been. I constantly imagine how things will be better when [insert time/event/behaviour/circumstance]. The crux of waiting for fairytale endings is that it prevents me from enjoying the present. I don’t want to rob myself of the pleasure of each day of my kids’ lives.  I don’t want to miss the little moments and special things about them at the exact ages they are right now. 

I need to appreciate my five years and seven month old who wants to know about my wedding and dresses up like a bride…

… and who writes stories on a daily basis, reads proficiently, and expresses herself in such a very earnest way.  I would hate to miss the way she stomps her foot when her jacket zipper gets stuck or demands that I tell her if the Easter Bunny is REALLY real.

I love the little boy who is two years and nine months old who wants me to snuggle with him til he falls asleep each night and who I have to tell that he can’t fill his hands with rocks every time we are out on our gravel driveway. It would be a shame not to take time to appreciate the way he tries to stuff 18 markers into his tiny shirt pocket…

… or the way he runs around with a box on his head pretending to be a “bad space man” (which I know because he tells me “Mine [My] BAD Space Man!”) or constantly asks “whyyyyy mama???” or the last remnants of his babyhood that still linger even while he trying to be just like daddy by pecking away at the computer and deleting my downloads folder AGAIN.

There is so much to appreciate in each moment and it can be tricky to remember that sometimes. Here’s to this moment, and all the ones to come!