The mrs. has to remind me sometimes, and she does. When she sees me getting frustrated, when I start to complain about our lack of time. She knows that I’ve forgotten again.
But she’s nice about it usually, doesn’t list my flaws or things I should do differently. She doesn’t preach that if I drank less maybe I could use my time more wisely. This part, I already know.
Lost in my hunger for advancement, I crave accomplishment. Lately it feels like I’m always stuck. By always I mean more like the last few weeks, which have been incredibly full largely due to my own engagements. But stuck seems to feel like forever, like it’s always been and always will be.
But I get frustrated at my lack of time and I love to blame the children.
Life has changed, even in comparison to when we had just one child. What was two and a half hours each evening and up to an hour in the mornings has suddenly shrunk to an hour in the evening, for everything necessary.
My ambitious goals for the year suffer under the weight of this time squeeze.
Although as I said, I suppose I could try to be more efficient, but that would bring the focus back to me and make this my issue.
Wifey reminds me on occasion that:
1. We asked for this, we chose to have children. This was our decision, so make the most of it.
2. This phase will be brief, although it may seem to last forever right now. Someday we will miss this.
Because I do such a good job at forgetting those things.
I silently plead for this trial to be over, to have a little more time for myself. I yearn to finish those recordings, to write new songs. My fingers ache to fly over the keys as I type out another post. My mind explodes with ideas for businesses we could start, websites we could build, and creative ventures to explore.
And that’s where it all stays, locked away in my mind.
This selfish part of me wants that free time back in order to work on those creative outlets, in part because of the thought that maybe one of those things could explode and change the course of our lives. Maybe one of those fantasy projects could shift all of my hopes and dreams into the spotlight from their current position relegated to the wings of our existence: “when I get the time.”
As she says again that this will be over before I know it, a familiar wave of guilt washes over me and I choke up a little bit. My eyes become a bit wetter than usual. Deep down I know she’s right.
Sam won’t always want to sleep in our bed, to cuddle with us through the night. He won’t need us to bring him to bed. And in ten years, he definitely won’t wake up when I do and follow me to the bathroom in the mornings to get ready for work, or when I have to pee in the middle of the night. Someday soon he won’t escape out the front door to look for me, because in my rush to leave I forgot to say goodbye.
We won’t always have this time together, and I know this.
So I asked her to remind me again, and again, and again. Every so often it’s something that I need to hear. Because every so often, it’s something I forget.
We won’t always have this time together.