Swim trunks & time

Monday was sunny and hot, with a high of 82. I fed Kyeler and CJ a quick snack (cinnamon teddy grahams and grapes) after their naps, then wrangled them into swimsuits so we could meet some friends at a nearby splash pad.

I zipped the boys into their matching light green swim shirts, the ones that have a 100% chance of eliciting the question: Are they twins? (Side note: at the splash pad, one person asked and two assumed). Then I slid their little legs into their respective swim trunks—green striped for Kyeler, blue with sailboats for CJ.

Something about CJ’s swim trunks struck a chord deep in the recesses of my memory. I remembered receiving them at our baby shower, when I was somewhere around 32 weeks pregnant. They were strung up on a clothesline along with onesies and socks, sort of a gift-turned-decoration.

I remember peeking at the tag on the swim trunks and seeing that it read 12-18 months. I imagined some distant future in which this little guy in my belly was a 12-18 month old—one who would not only be big enough to fit into the swim trunks, but also toddle around a body of water in them. That day seemed so far off in the distance, it was nearly inconceivable.

Well, turns out that day was yesterday. (How???)

It got me thinking about the passage of time. Whenever I’m anticipating something, it can feel like time passes s l o o o o w l y. But when I am actually living out my days, inhabiting the moments, taking hold of life with both hands (or really just one, since I’m a mom), time zips by and suddenly it feels like I must have teleported to where I stand now.

Time can be such a fickle thing—either holding a desired future just out of reach or speeding up a season that I wish would last forever. Today, though, time feels almost like a friend. A friend who gently led me to Monday afternoon at the splash pad, where I watched my boys run around in their swim trunks and delighted in the glory of a sunny spring day.

(Post inspired by Katie Blackburn’s writing course, Notice.)

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