then. now. next.

Vividly,

I remember it all.

(Sort of.)

But so clearly, so recently, it was true, that I often brace myself for the reality of it

right now

before I look around me

and am reminded

that time has escaped our clinging grasp

and changed our present

as it is wont to do.

There was a time when our house was overrun by littles.

A bevy of tinies we had.

A stir.

A commotion.

An entrance – we made one everywhere we went.

Five children under the age of six.

That was our reality.

Two toddlers six months apart.  A newborn when those two were not even three.

Diapers for a near decade.

I remember – the prep work to go anywhere!

Oh, the prep work.

A day at the beach back then?

Diapers.  Swimmies.  Extra clothes.  Snacks.  Water.  Back ups of everything.  Sippee cups.  Baby wipes.

Nothing could be left to chance.

So much effort just for the minimum.

Survival.

It was so much more work.

And I remember being convinced that we would never know another reality.

That we would never know convenience, silence, no tears, clean bums, small purses, dinner table conversations, non-nursing bras and spontaneity.

That seemed like an alternate universe.

But this recent vacation, this summer 2012 trip – it was a different tale completely.

No pack-and-play.  No booster seat.  Nary a bib amongst us.

We said phrases like, “Wait for supper.  We can eat after the pool.”

Kids monitored their own snack intakes.  (And made their own snacks!)

We said, “Let’s go” and in five seconds kids had put on their own swim suits and were carrying their own neatly folded towels and we were walking down the path.

I guess we are living on that other planet now after all.

Which is both freeing

and harrowing.

Both lovely

and lamentable.

The Then was busy.

It was hectic and overwhelming.

Exhausting and numbing.

It was hard and lonely.

And I loved it

and I was tired from it.

And now it is no more.

The Now is busy.

It is funny and it is loud.

It is demanding and it is glorious.

Convicting and exhausting.

And I love it.

And I am tired.

But, oh – I am aware.

So, so aware.

Of the Next.

And I know what it will hold.

(Kind of.)

Exhausting.  Lonely.  Sweet.  Frustrating.

I will love it.

(And I will be tired from it.)

Because I know . . .

it’s all so transient.

So fleeting.

None of it lasts.

It doesn’t stay.

Change.  Change.  Change.

The primary promise of parenting.

Of life itself.

Change.  Change.  Change.

It is my lot.

My destiny.

My today and my tomorrow.

It was my Then.

It is my Now.

And it will be my Next.