Days, Weeks, Months, Years, Decades...

Wherever we go, I'm asked how old Lily is. My response elicits all kinds of reactions: "Oh my--so tiny!" or "I can hardly remember when mine were that small!" seem most popular. But the question has meant that I've been thinking a lot lately about how time is measured. As we hit the start of summer and look forward to Lily's growth--both physical and mental, I'm also so aware of the dwindling number of days I have at home as just us two before I go back to teaching in the fall. And so, once again, my mind falls to that measurement of time.

Days...

It's hard now to remember back to early February, to recall those sleepless nights in the hospital (right above) or that first trip to the pediatrician (left above), when everything was measured in days (and sometimes in hours). When someone would ask, "How old is she?" and I'd say "four days" and think "what was life like five days ago?" A tiny life measured in such a small amount of time, yet we were so aware of how blessed we were to have held her in our arms for two days, or three, or four.

Weeks...

Lily's life inside me began by being measured in weeks--weeks that began almost a year ago now. When she came out, it was no different; I was so grateful when another Saturday had passed, when she was another week older, when she seemed just a bit less fragile and bit more ready for the world. Each set of seven days inched by ever so slowly, and I was so ready for it to be the next week every time. I think I'm starting to understand now, though, why everyone says that time flies faster than you can ever realize when you're mired deep inside of it.

Months...

After Lily passed twelve weeks old, I realized that counting in weeks no longer mattered and that it truly was the months that marked the passage of time. I began reading books that would tell me what developmental milestones I might see in the next month or how I could help her develop new skills. Now, at nearly four months, it's hard to believe that she's rolling (both ways!), reaching for her toys on her activity mat and pulling them to her, and happily bouncing on her chubby little legs to whatever is playing on the radio as we support her torso. I'm shocked that the months are starting to fly, that I'm having to imagine leaving her for several hours a day when she's just six months old.

Years...

The photo above is from my 35th birthday. We'd lost Blueberry earlier that year, and the age just felt devastating to me, as it's when the medical community classifies a woman as AMA: Advanced Maternal Age. I was supposed to be having a baby at 35, not wondering what treatments would cost and facing a slew of tests and possible surgeries. It felt like such a lost cause that another year had passed without the ability to achieve the one thing I wanted so desperately. (Jeff's surprise of a weekend in southern Virginia and a special chocolate cake certainly improved the memories, though!)

Decades...

On Tuesday, my mum turns 70. She marks the start of a new decade with her granddaughter, with her daughter becoming a mom herself, with watching her husband take on the role of Granddaddy. As I watch my mom age by a decade but be in awe of her granddaughter aging in days, weeks, and months, I can only pray I grow old with such grace, such beauty, and such faith. 

I look forward to the decades to come--and the days, and the weeks, and the months, and the years.