I was 39 when Larkin was born; 40 by the time she was four months.
We chose to wait until this point in our lives to have a kid, but Momming a toddler in one’s 40s comes with its challenges.
Crawling around and playing on the floor certainly would have been easier in my 20s.
I could function on very little sleep in my 20s, too, as evidenced by college.
A full night’s sleep has been pretty rare in the last (nearly) three years, and oof, am I tired.
I often hear she will “keep me young.”
This week, Larkin and I went sledding. Twice!
Our first winter living at Covenant Cedars Bible Camp means we have a very conveniently located hill, just outside our back door.
Without Larkin, the odds are real low that I go out to sled instead of standing inside with a hot drink and watching it snow.
She keeps me wandering instead of just walking.
Exploring instead of just exercising.
I couldn’t tell you the last movie I watched that wasn’t made for kids. (Partly watching films with Larkin and partly too tired to watch a full movie after she goes to bed.)
And we dance to the credits. This was not unheard of pre-Larkin if the feel-good levels were high and the music was good (see Silver Linings Playbook), but now it’s a requirement.
There’s the Old.
This morning we made a trek to the bathroom in the middle of church because potty training equals going when she says she needs to despite the circumstances. There’s a half bath between the nursery and another classroom that has a potty seat. We went around to the classroom side to avoid the distraction of Kids and Toys, locked the nursery side door, and went about our business.
I sat on the small step stool provided for kids’ hand washing, and when I bent to reach for her bag, something….slipped.
My vertebrae? My pelvis? Some combination therein?
The old of it is finding myself slowly shifting to lying on my back on the floor of a tiny bathroom, trying to decide if I kick the door and call for help.
I was able to get flat enough for things to resettle.
Able to get off the floor and return to church.
An afternoon of slow-going and over-careful and ibuprofen and a nap.
Some days overflow with delight and my heart grows like the Grinch’s when the Whos sing despite his thievery.
Some days the Get-Off-My-Lawn is strong with me.
Even on my surlier days, I have no doubt that I am a far better parent now that I would have been ten or fifteen years ago.
And I wouldn’t trade her for anything.
May your joys outweigh your challenges.
May each day be an adventure.
May your vertebrae remain aligned.
One thought on “The Young and the Old of It”
You are an incredible writer. You make me laugh…..sometimes…..and tear up….. sometimes. Thank you for sharing your gift with us. (At first I used the words “your talent with us” but then realized it’s more than a talent. It truly is a gift.)
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