Ten.

My son turns ten years old today.  Ten.  A full decade, two whole hands, double digits.

How does this happen?  I think that time speeds up exponentially when you become a parent; that’s the only logical explanation as to why the last ten years have flown by so much more quickly than the ten before them.  Each stage of parenthood has been an adjustment, but a very gradual one, full of such small daily changes that they aren’t even noticed until you look back and realize they’ve occurred.  He still needs me, yes, but he needs me far differently than he did then.

I wrote a post when he turned five, and now five is a distant memory and we are on the road to the tweens.  I read over my original words again yesterday, and I cried at this part:

You are one half of my greatest accomplishment, my biggest treasure, my deepest emotion.  My everyday-moment-joy doubles when you smile and raises tenfold when you laugh.  I hurt when you hurt, and when you cry on the outside I cry on the inside.  Before we had you, I wasn’t even sure I wanted children, or had a maternal instinct inside of me.  You changed that, my love.  You showed me a side of myself that I didn’t know even existed, and a side of myself that now seems so intuitive, so fateful, so clear, so this-is-what-I-was-meant-to-do obvious.  

My biggest treasure, my deepest emotion.  All still true.

Happy birthday my sweet boy.

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Tomorrow, you are five.

Today, you are still four.  But today is the last day for that.  When you wake up tomorrow, my sweet boy, you will be five.  A new half-decade, a whole hand, a next stage.

Five.  Five is school-aged, five is way beyond toddler, five is full-on kid.  Five is skinned knees and dirty socks and dump trucks and hockey.  Five is opinions and conversations and growth.

The other day, you snuggled up to me and told me that I was “the best mom in the world”.  Those words made me happier than I can explain.  When you’re a parent yourself, you’ll understand.  When you’re a teenager, I will remember this.  Your “I-love-you”s, your “please-sing-me-a-song”s, your snuggles and cuddles and kisses, they will dwindle.  Your independence will grow and our relationship will evolve.  But for now, I’ll cherish my sweet, sensitive, cuddly little boy.

You are one half of my greatest accomplishment, my biggest treasure, my deepest emotion.  My everyday-moment-joy doubles when you smile and raises tenfold when you laugh.  I hurt when you hurt, and when you cry on the outside I cry on the inside.  Before we had you, I wasn’t even sure I wanted children, or had a maternal instinct inside of me.  You changed that, my love.  You showed me a side of myself that I didn’t know even existed, and a side of myself that now seems so intuitive, so fateful, so clear, so this-is-what-I-was-meant-to-do obvious.  

I am appreciating each day, each moment, each milestone with you.  I’m learning to be a parent as you’re learning to be a kid.  We’re in this together.  It’s our journey.  Here we go.

1st birthday...

1st birthday…

...2nd....

…2nd….

...3rd....

…3rd….

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…4th…

...and 5th! Happy birthday my sweet boy!!!

…and 5th! Happy birthday my sweet boy!!!

“I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”
~Robert Munsch


148 hours per week

I work part-time, about 20 hours per week.  Right now, at this stage in my life, that’s about all I can handle.  But what do I do with the other 148 hours per week?

I am a parent.

I wipe children’s faces and noses and bums.  I’ve caught spit-up with my hand and pee with my t-shirt.

I don’t go to the bathroom alone or shower in peace.  If little hands are not reaching to be picked up, they are wiggling fingers underneath the door or rattling the knob to get in.

I rarely sit down, and when I do, it’s usually to make a grocery list or fold laundry or do some online banking.  I wake up at 5:30 to have some gym time and I go to bed late so that I can have some couch time.

I prepare three meals and many snacks every day.  I rarely get to enjoy my food hot.  I dole out vitamins and prunes and fish oil.  I clean up the table, I wipe down the highchair, and my dishwasher is always full.

I put shoes on six feet in the morning, hats on three heads, and sunscreen on twelve limbs.  I can pack a diaper bag in two minutes flat while carrying a baby in my arms.  I can leash the dog, open the garage door, and unfold the stroller while simultaneously tracking down keys and bringing in the newspaper.

I take my kids to swimming lessons and skating lessons, playgrounds and playgroups, library programs and parks.  I get their teeth checked, their eyes checked, their spines checked, and I get them weighed and measured.  I teach them about manners and sharing and taking turns.  I teach them to play gently with the dog.

I make sure they’re hydrated, fed, and rested.  I make sure they’re getting enough exercise and fresh air, and not too much screen time.  I keep their 20 fingernails trimmed and their 20 toenails clean.  I brush their hair and their teeth and help tidy their rooms.

I read countless books and play countless hours in the playroom.  I walk miles through wood-chipped trails and point out the birds and the trees and the squirrels.  I smile when my daughter points out every airplane that flies overhead and my son gets excited at every big truck that we see.

I practice the alphabet and numbers, I sing songs and make up rhymes, and I tell more stories than you can imagine.  I take pictures often and videos sporadically, and I write down their milestones in a baby book.

I am also a wife, a daughter, a daughter-in-law, a sister, a niece, a cousin, and a friend.  I’m a chiropractor, a runner, a Crossfitter, and a foodie.  I love travelling and reading and coffee and chocolate.  I love being outside, getting up early, and taking naps.  I’m organized and loyal, a perfectionist, and a to-do-lister.  But to my kids, I am a mom. 

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On an adventure at Bronte Park.