Time to Smell the Roses

A couple of things had me considering the nature of time recently. First, a good friend wrote a blog post about her son moving up schools, and how big an event it was for both of them. (You can read it here.)

The second was holding my precious granddaughter, who was feeling poorly, and rocking her as she tried to fall asleep with a heavy cold.

It doesn’t seem that long ago when I was rocking my own son in my arms. He’s just turned 34. (I know – I don’t look old enough to have a child of that age!) Yet the lovely memories I have of that time are clouded with a deep regret.

External pressures can strip you of enjoyment easily. And I had a lot in those days.

Being a new mother is filled with stress. Despite the many manuals, sage advice from a different generation, and the diktats of the medical profession, there is no sure-fire way of raising a child. Anyone who has had more than one can tell you. Even though you apply the same rules, manage feeding, sleeping and teaching the same way, no two siblings will be alike. From the moment they are born, they have a distinct character, with their own foibles and unique personalities.

I don’t know what was worse: trying to fend off the seemingly endless unwanted advice, or having to listen to people preach to you, knowing you weren’t going to take on any of their suggestions.

I was filled with intense love, but also exhausted frustration, murderous thoughts, fear of doing something irreparably wrong, and heavy remorse at having such feelings at all.

I now know I was also suffering from deep depression. Why else would I sit in the corner of a bedroom sobbing for no reason? Or contemplate suicide as the only way to deal with the life I was living? It wasn’t until years later that I finally confided in my GP, and he prescribed antidepressants. Looking back, I had probably suffered since my early teens, but in those days, mental health issues were a stigma which no-one talked about. So I suffered in silence, because to admit the darkness had me in its thrall was to be seen as weak.

I struggled. I didn’t have many female friends and only one who I confided in eventually. My mantra back then seemed to always begin with ‘if only’.

If only he could crawl/walk so I can put him down for five seconds.

If only he would wean himself, so I could claim my body back.

If only he would go to preschool so I could have some me time.

If only he would go to school, so I had more hours in the day.

If only he would stay asleep until a reasonable hour.

If only he would get up at a reasonable hour.

I wished my time with him away instead of enjoying every moment. My deepest regret is not realising those precious moments I had with him at each stage of his life were fleeting. I missed out on enjoying holding him close, spending time on the floor with him instead of doing housework, and savouring every kiss and cuddle.

Children grow up so fast, and before you know it, they leave and you realise they don’t need you any more.

I need to be less critical of my younger self because, even if I had wanted to, I didn’t ever have the luxury of dedicating all my time to my son. Food had to be bought and prepared, the house wasn’t going to clean itself, and bills needed paying. And I got tired, and frustrated, and lonely.

Wisdom comes with age. Things that once seemed so important, mean very little to me now. How I look. How my house looks. What other people think of me. The acquisition of possessions and money. Instead of trying to please others. I have higher motivations. Leaving all that stuff behind gives you a freedom many yearn for but never find.

I wonder if that is why God created Nana’s. I get to have a do-over without any of the pressures of being a 24/7 parent.

So, I stood in the breeze from the window, listening to a bird chirp outside, rocking my poorly granddaughter, relishing her hot head against my shoulder and breathing in the smell of baby milk. I was 100% present. I said a prayer for rest and healing. I laid her gently down and watched as she settled and slept. It was wonderful.

I don’t want any more regrets. My time with her is limited, unless I break some longevity records, and I intend to savour every moment.

This principle doesn’t only work for the children in our lives. Every day can present us with moments to treasure. A sunrise, or sunset. A kind word or good deed. Laughter. Wonderful flavours

I know it isn’t practical to always be present. Real life won’t wait while you savour your breakfast or stand outside with your eyes closed enjoying the heat of the sun on your face. The pressure and pace of daily living has a way of derailing our good intentions. But it is possible to live in one moment and commit it to memory, to look around at all your blessings and be thankful. To stop worrying about the future or rehashing the past and simply be for a few precious minutes. To watch with your eyes instead of through a camera lens.

I promise you won’t regret it.