The Season of Savoring

Last night, I found myself in the middle of a familiar scene: mid-dinner prep, hands covered in raw chicken guts, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder as my husband filled my overcrowded brain with snippets from his day. It was one of many similar nights where I attempted to get a meal onto the stove or into the oven before my toddler dismantled the house, dangerous item by dangerous item. “I have to hang up with you now,” I snapped at Adam impatiently, as I watched my son grab a full cruet of just-mixed Italian dressing from the open pantry and toss it casually to the floor where it pooled at his pajamed feet. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

I sighed heavily and punched the “end” button, trying to avoid contaminating the screen with a fresh layer of salmonella. The onions simmering on the stove would scorch in minutes if I didn’t get the coconut milk into the pot post-haste; the still-whole bell peppers sat on the cutting board waiting for their turn to join the mix. In that moment, I felt overwhelmed and impatient, annoyed at the expanding oil slick on the already-filthy kitchen floor, irritated with my husband for not being home by now.

I turned back from wiping my hands on what was left of the roll of paper towels and paused, really taking in the sight of my son. All 31 ½ inches of him, shoulders barely clearing the first pantry shelf. His back was to me and he was busy hefting a bag of all-purpose flour onto the floor, happily immersed in his own world. I don’t know why that moment, but right then, it felt like time just slowed, the way it does in really bad horror movies just before the girl opens the door with the killer behind it. For the first time all day, I was acutely aware of my son.

As I stood there, knife poised above a freshly washed pepper, I came to a sobering realization: these days of just us are numbered; we are on a time-clock that is quickly ticking down.  In a matter of months, he will have to share me and I, him. It’s something I’ve thought about offhandedly a few times—about how tiring it will be to chase after a mischievous toddler while nursing a new baby, how daunting the logistics of leaving the house will suddenly become—but never the actuality of our twosome coming to a fast end.

It felt like someone socked me over the head with a bag of bricks. Why haven’t I been paying more attention? Why did I never realize that the pregnancy tracker that counts down the days till my son’s arrival also spells out the number of moments I have left savoring my other son? Why haven’t I stopped to smell his hair more or press my nose into that sweet spot where his neck meets his shoulders? Why have I been wishing time would speed up instead of slow down?

Since that moment, I’ve been rewinding the recent months, searching for where I went wrong. When did I stop really seeing my firstborn amidst the haze of too many obligations? Why have I let the artificial glow of a smart phone or a computer screen lure me away from the realest, truest thing that is happening in my life? And how do I get that time back now?

I know the answer is that I can’t. I’ve lost more than one chance to hear my son’s belly laugh when he throws the blanket off his head during peekaboo simply because I was too busy scrolling through my Instagram feed; I’ve missed opportunities to sit with him while he eats his lunch so I can vacuum the floor or wash a load of dishes. I’ve gotten my priorities completely wrong and soon, he will fall by the wayside again as I learn to parent two little boys. The moments I can devote solely to him are fast disappearing.

But I’ve still got a little time. 121 more days, to be exact. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough, but it’s something. And I’m making a promise to my son that I’m not going to waste it—not with obligations, not with distractions and white noise, not with things that are far less important.

Instead, I will bring him to the places he loves to go—the children’s museum, the zoo, the library— rather than the places I always think I need to be. I will sing Patty Cake thirty times in a row just to see him clap his hands in delight. I will turn off my phone and realize that a Facebook status can wait, but my son cannot. There are just simply not enough days to waste. The season of savoring starts today.

Like What You Just Read?
Subscribe via email to get more posts like these delivered to your inbox!
Follow Me

Melissa Mowry

Melissa Mowry is a stay at home mom to 3 year old Chase and the slightly younger guy, Sam. She is the main voice behind One Mother to Another, which she started in July 2014 as a way to connect with other moms who felt just as lonely as she did some days. She is married to her high school sweetheart, Adam, and they live in their home state of Rhode Island. Melissa's work has been featured on the Huffington Post, Scary Mommy, Mamalode, Coffee + Crumbs and Mamapedia, among others. Her book, One Mother to Another: This Is Just Between Us is for sale on Amazon.
Follow Me

Latest posts by Melissa Mowry (see all)

, ,

9 Responses to The Season of Savoring

  1. ghoffer April 9, 2015 at 7:10 pm #

    I feel the same way. My second child is due to arrive in a matter of weeks, and I can already sense my son fighting for those last moments of attention with me. I am doing my best to stay connected and engaged. Even if all I have the energy to do is snuggle with him on the couch.

  2. Jill April 9, 2015 at 8:23 pm #

    Hang in there, mama. I have two within two, who soon will be 2 & 4. It’s difficult, but you’ll find your groove and realize what works best for you and your family. If I could’ve started over, I would have called on more people for help and favors. Also, baby wearing saved my life, that way hugs and cuddles were accessible to all most of the time.
    Good luck!!

  3. Jamie April 9, 2015 at 9:18 pm #

    I hear you loud and clear! I can’t believe how quickly my daughter is growing up! I scold myself every time I find that I’m ignoring her so that I can check emails or clean the kitchen. It is so daunting to think about how I am going to give her the attention she needs and deserves once baby girl #2 arrives. I guess we just have to make a conscious effort to savor all the precious moments that we have now.

  4. meanttobeamama April 9, 2015 at 10:21 pm #

    Im sending you a virtual hug. And those big, ugly, heaving sobs? It always means you are evolving into an even better mama. It means you’re dealing with some tough $#!+ and finding your way through it. You are doing a good job. You really are.

  5. whitneymaeve April 9, 2015 at 11:08 pm #

    Good for you, mama! And those hormone-worsened ugly cries are just moments of realization and revitalization to spur you on into becoming Chase’s (and baby boy’s) best mama.

  6. Faint Not Mom April 10, 2015 at 12:11 am #

    I never had one to myself due to having twins and I am always wanting them to grow up faster! I DO have those moments of wanting to breathe them in, or I turn around and the way one of them is standing looks so grown up and there is that twinge in my heart. I think it’s ok to balance the task of being a mother—which is exhausting and warrants the feeling that you want them to get older so that it’s easier—and the heart lovely moments which help us to appreciate our children and our role in their lives. As I write this, one of my toddlers has started crying. I will go and try to balance my frustration and my appreciation for the scent of their hair.

  7. allisonarnone April 10, 2015 at 10:05 am #

    I enjoy your posts/writing so much. I may not always be able to relate firsthand, but you’re a great storyteller and have an amazing way with words. You seem like a really great mom & I’m sure your son thinks so too 🙂

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. The Season of Savoring - Mom Babble - Mom Babble - May 15, 2015

    […] This post previously appeared on One Mother to Another.  […]

  2. You Won't Remember, But I Will - One Mother to Another - September 10, 2015

    […] all the many times I failed you in little ways—losing my patience, letting you watch too much TV, prioritizing the wrong things over my precious time with you—ways that your lack of early memory will whitewash over, never to […]

Leave a Reply