As I introduce Kya to people, especially other parents, I typically hear two things: "She looks just like you," and "This time goes by quickly." The first was probably obvious to everyone who's met her except, until recently, me, as I apparently have a terribly inaccurate perception of myself.
The second seems obvious, too - and yet it's not. I'll explain.
In the past five-plus months, I've seen such a seemingly gradual transformation in Kya, like a seed sprouting into a beautiful flower. Physically, I see features in her that seem to project the future; I look in her eyes, and I can already envision a little girl, not just a baby. She has a personality - a happy, content, playful one - that I dearly hope she keeps. And she has me wrapped around her little finger a little tighter every day.
All that in five months. I've begun to embrace the routine of watching her evolve a little more all the time, of caring for her, anticipating that open mouthed smile when she wakes up, doing every goofy thing possible to elicit that hearty laugh of hers, feeling complete when she melts into my chest as she falls asleep, watching her and not wanting to leave when I put her to bed.
Times like those, I wish time would stop. But it doesn't.
Meanwhile, I can't wait for the next phase in my own life. When I finally land the career and permanently part ways with stupid jobs. When we move out of our house and find our home, wherever that might be. When we can finally exhale and not have to continuously crane our necks to peek around the corner to see what challenge we have to face next. When we can stop feeling like we have to hurry up just to wait.
This past week was definitely one of those instances where I would have gladly skipped the journey to get right to the destination. For months, my sister and I have been planning a trip down to South Florida to have our respective babies meet our 95 year-old grandmother for the first time. The same person who, a year earlier, had no great-grandchildren and now has four (talk about something worth waiting for). Her caravan consisted of her daughter, husband, and our mother. Mine was Kya, Missy, Jenna and her friend Alex so she wouldn't get too stir crazy on a trip which consisted of enough crazy as it was.
The trip started off with a 4:00 a.m. wakeup to get on a 6:00 flight to Fort Lauderdale. Perhaps if it was a 3:55 alarm instead, we would have made the flight. Instead the gate closed as we approached it. Plan B was to fly into Fort Myers and then subsequently drive across the state in the peripheral of a tropical storm as our only chance to still arrive that day. And so we did.
But simply seeing Great-Grandma wasn't nearly the only thing on the agenda. We were taking Jenna to see colleges (with her own major life transition just a year away), as well as see her boyfriend, who is a new freshman at Barry University, seeing my cousin Meri and her son (Great-Grandchild #2 of 4), and some old college friends of mine. Four days, a couple thousand miles of flying, and another 500-plus miles of driving. With an infant. And a moody teenager. And extended time with my sister and mother.
I guess this is what it means when they talk about needing a vacation from your vacation!
Worse yet, I swear that in the midst of all that driving, we would hit most every red light there was. And perhaps it was simply because we just wanted to get to the next destination, but I'm telling you, those were some of the longest freaking lights. Ever.
Hurry up and wait.
But to see the eyes of the youngest person in my life lock with those of the oldest, to see the look of joy in my grandmother, for her to realize that making it this far in life, with all of the stop lights and detours and stormy weather, rewarded her in witnessing yet another life to carry on her treasured legacy, one named after a son whose own life ended far too soon...the destination was worth the tumultuous journey.
And naturally, on the commute back home, when we learned our lesson and arrived at the airport with plenty of time to catch this plane, it gets delayed, and we ultimately returned home after 2:00 a.m.
So that was this past week. Labor Day Weekend hasn't been nearly as laborious as that was. Instead, this will be my last weekend of my own summer of transformation. Beginning next week, I will teach, which I've done occassionally for much of the past decade, but never primarily. It will be as an adjunct at a couple local colleges, so this too, like this period in Kya's life, will be temporary, with something else lurking around the corner for me.
But I will spend at least the next three-and-a-half months devoted to writing and inspiring - hopefully for the students as well as myself. I will stop rushing to get through the next light, or get on that next flight - at least for the time being. I will attempt to live in the present, avert my eyes from the rearview mirror, and resist temptation to look too far down the road - in this case, 2013, when a new journey could very well be mapped out.
And, instead of hurry up and wait, I'll get to hurry up and simply slow down and just enjoy the drive.
