Time Stops for No Parent

Eighteen years ago this month, I was suffering through summer while in the third trimester of pregnancy.  I was still working full-time as a fire protection consultant, but it was getting harder and harder to do my job.  I was so uncomfortable, and so very swollen.  I was so swollen that my OB was seriously worried about pre-eclampsia.  (Fortunately, my blood pressure was never even elevated.  Oh those were the days . . . .) When I would visit our chiropractor (who literally kept me able to sleep at night), she would squeeze down my legs and water would seep right out of my skin.  Talk about retaining fluid!!  My brain also was working not so great-- most pregnant women have experienced that fuzzy, forgetful mind-- but it was killing me because part of what made me so good at my job was my ability to keep track of dozens of projects at the same time.  Hah.  My professional look was gone-- I couldn't fit any clothes except the baggiest, roomiest three "work" maternity outfits I owned.  I couldn't wear any shoes at all except the widest, ugliest size 10 men's flip flops.  My boss made fun of those flip flops (even he could see how swollen my feet were so there were no complaints about dress code breaking) but he also stopped sending me to meet with clients or fire departments unless it was a dire emergency.  It was easily the most uncomfortable summer of my life, at least up until that point.

But on the other hand, it was a time of great expectations and wonder.  In just a few short (well, eternally long) weeks, my firstborn child would make her appearance!  My whole life was about to forever change.  I knew that, and I was very excited for it, but I also didn't know what I was in for.  I was afraid, of course.  I wasn't an idiot.  And I was right to be afraid!  Labor and delivery were far worse than I had ever imagined.

But when I came home with that almost nine pound bundle of perfection, I felt nothing but joy.  Joy and rightness and wonder and awe and . . .  soon, total and utter deliriousness from lack of sleep!  There were moments when I wondered if I ever would get more than a few hours of broken sleep again.

• M was a very easy baby, overall.  But even still, I had moments of wondering what I had gotten myself into, and the eighteen years until she reached adulthood stretched before me as distant and unbelievable as such things as "retirement."  I felt like I had all the time in the world with her, all the time to teach her and prepare her to eventually fly on her own.

Those eighteen years have gone way, way too fast.  YIKES!  I'm not ready!! Worse, she's not ready.

I've tried to be the kind of parent that prepares my kids to eventually be independent adults.  But honestly, like when I was pregnant in that third trimester and looking forward to labor and delivery, I didn't really know what I was in for.

I don't know what I am doing.  M starts her senior year of high school this week, and she's so far away from being ready to leave home that I tremble to think of it.  I know how fast this year is going to go.  Friends her age have already graduated and are officially "adults."  But how do you get a kid ready to launch?  Especially one who still avoids talking to any adults outside her family?

How do you slow down time?

I always hated when my kids were tiny when older moms would say, "Enjoy it while it lasts!  It goes too fast.  Before you know it they're grown!" I would stare at them, after a day of no sleep and continual disasters and tantrums and fights between siblings and fussy babies and think, "Easy for you to say, you're not in the trenches!"

But here I am, wondering how did time pass so fast? And how am I still so inept at parenting???  Surely after eighteen years of practice I should be a master!