Where has it gone? Where the heck has it gone. I know it’s somewhere, I’ve got a mountain of photos and foggy memories to show it was there but despite my best efforts, the last year has just gone.
It’s a cliché I know, but each year that I grow up, getting closer to maybe being a real adult, I struggle more and more to cling on to time that just seems to be getting whipped from under me and around me.
My baby is one. Already. And before I know it, my bigger girl will be four and it’ll be the year that she starts school. I cannot begin to explain to whomever is reading this that although everyone seems to say how time goes quicker when you have children, I don’t understand why that is and I need to have it explained to me. I look compulsively at pictures of my girls as young babies, reciting mentally where and when each photo was taken and who bought that particular outfit, and it’s surely supposed to make me feel happy and nostalgic. But it just makes me sad.
My childhood seemed to last forever, punctuated by trying to make friends (and keep the fickle ones), dealing with things being not-so-easy physically, meeting new siblings and dealing with divorce. That was mostly just in my first 10 years. To think that was such a small amount of time compared to my age now, is scary. You do so much changing as a child in so few years without realising it. Yet I’ve probably changed more in the last 10 years and it has just vanished. I still feel somewhat childlike so why can’t time go as slowly as it did back then? It seems to be speeding up each year and again, I am fully aware of how often everyone says it. But it’s seriously scaring me. I’m petrified that I’ll get to 47or 59 and not have done things which I should do to make my life resumé look a bit more sparkly and impressive than it currently does -with an honours degree that I’ve yet to make use of, and a post-grad qualification for which I’ve yet to find a job that notices such a thing. Raising children is bloody hard work, but who was ever impressed by someone who just brought up their children.
I’m supposed to look forward to my children growing up. And in many ways I do. I look forward to being able to go shopping for clothes together for their school trips and first discos (will they ever know the Superman song?) and going abroad and not needing to put so much planning into the travel snack menu and entertainment agenda. But apart from such trivial things, I am just slightly filled to the brim with anxiety over whether I’ll always pine after the months that have gone by, and the little shoes which only fit for 3 months of their tiny lives.
“Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines,
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way,
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I’d something more to say.”