When James was first born, time crawled. Every day felt like a decade. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and just trying to keep a potato alive whilst figuring out who I was in this completely new chapter. I remember looking at the clock at 3:17 am, again at 3:42, then again at 4:03, and wondering how it was possible that only minutes had passed. That first year stretched on like the longest marathon I’ve ever run - equal parts magic and madness. Would it always feel this hard? Would I always be this tired?

But then somehow, without me even noticing, time started to speed up.

Today, I watched James walk across a tiny stage in his tiny suit with his tiny diploma for his kindergarten graduation. I pinned a boutonniere on him this morning - an ambitious DIY job that was moderate at best - and I just sat there in disbelief. How are we already here?

I blinked and we were out of the baby stage. I blinked and he was correcting me, dressing himself, telling me to stop singing in public (I will never). I blinked and saw the future versions of this day - his high school graduation, then college. And suddenly I was overwhelmed not by exhaustion, but by how fast it’s all going now.

Motherhood has this strange way of bending time. The days are so long, sometimes achingly long, especially the ones filled with diapers and tantrums and glue on the walls and nobody listening and no shoes on the right feet and Legos in places they absolutely should not be. You give yourself little pep talks, “just get through the day”, “don't lose your shit you’ll pay for it in therapy later”. You count the minutes until bedtime.

But then, one day, you realize there are fewer little hands reaching for yours. They stop climbing into your bed in the morning. They don’t need you to wipe their bum anymore (can’t say I miss that part). And you’d give anything to go back to one of those chaotic, sticky, exhausting days just to feel it all again.

Ford is still little, so the chaos isn’t over yet. But I can feel that phase of life with James slipping away. And I guess that’s why I’m writing this. Not to mourn it, but to remember to hold onto it. Because the present moment, as messy as it is, really is the whole thing. It’s where the love is. It’s the part we’ll miss when they’re tall and cool and don’t want us to kiss them goodbye anymore.

So I’m really trying to stay here. Even when it’s hard. Because these long days? They’re racing by.

C x