Sometimes, it truly does.
Last Monday was one of those challenging days for me. I completely overlooked the fact that my son, Max, had hockey practice scheduled, even though it was a holiday. In a last-minute scramble, I had to reschedule my mother’s planned visit for a dinner at home to late afternoon. We were running late for hockey, and my frustration was mounting. By the time I managed to get Max into the car with his hockey gear—mostly on, but not entirely—I was on the brink of tears.
It’s remarkable how quickly things can shift, isn’t it? Just the night before, we had celebrated a delightful birthday for Max: a family dinner at his favorite restaurant, a homemade cake (a rich triple chocolate that required visiting three different stores for ingredients), and presents galore. As I sat at our dining room table, watching the candlelight dance on my family’s faces, I felt a deep sense of peace and gratitude. My little boy was turning eight.
But now, as I stood by the ice rink fighting back tears, the cold seeped into me. In my haste, I had forgotten to bring a hat or gloves, so I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my down coat and leaned my forehead against the chilly plexiglass separating me from the rink. I watched Max glide across the ice, and I felt my heart race and my chest tighten: I was juggling too much at once. This overwhelming sense of responsibility made me feel like I was failing at everything. I was simply exhausted.
Drawing a deep breath, I struggled to suppress the wave of sorrow rising within me. Suddenly, Billy Joel’s lyrics echoed in my mind: “This is the time to remember, ’cause it will not last forever.” I shook my head, feeling both chastened and irritated; I was reminded of my desperate desire to be present, yet burdened by the expectation that I should always achieve this. Is my ongoing struggle with being present hindering my actual ability to engage in the moment?
I’m uncertain. I don’t believe it’s entirely true, as I know I was far less aware of the present before I began contemplating this issue. However, it does intensify my awareness of the many moments I fall short in fully engaging with my life.
Looking at Max, his small form blurring through my tears, I ached to experience these years to their fullest, to be attentive, to capture every fleeting moment. Yet far too often, I let my fatigue or irritability obscure the beauty of our imperfect, everyday lives. The thought of all that I have missed fills me with sadness. I fear blinking, afraid I might miss yet another precious moment.
The rest of the evening, all I could hear was:
“This are the time to remember / Cause it will not last forever. / These are the days to hold onto / Cause we won’t although we’ll want to / This is the time, but time is going to change.”
In navigating the complexities of parenting and life, it is essential to seek balance. Being present is a journey, one that requires patience with oneself and the understanding that perfection is not the goal. Engaging with resources such as this informative guide on intrauterine insemination can also provide valuable insights. Additionally, if you’re interested in exploring home insemination options, consider checking out this home insemination kit for more information. For those specifically looking into self-insemination, this baby maker kit is an authority on the topic.
In summary, while the fear of not being present can sometimes hinder our ability to enjoy the moment, it is essential to recognize that this struggle is a shared experience among many parents. Embracing the imperfections of life and seeking support can foster a more mindful approach to living.