Time, as we all know it, actually passes at pretty much the exact same pace. While there are some small variations, we generally accept that days have 24 hours, years 12 months, and so on and so on.
We can all probably generally accept that time can feel like it’s moving exceptionally slowly or quickly.
Seven months is the magic length of time for me.
You see, as I write this, I remember what my life looked like exactly seven months ago. It was the day that S arrived, almost 4 weeks early. By some miracle, I blinked and I got a couple of hours of sleep and seven months have blown by. They have been, without question, the shortest seven months of my life.
Comparatively, the seven months before I had a positive pregnancy test were the longest of my life.
While seven months is but a blink in the length of time countless couples spend trying to conceive, it felt like forever when I was living it. In much the same way that the hard days of parenting seem to have 100 hours instead of 24.
The days are long but the years are short.
On January 23, I’d woken so early. It was a long day from waking until bedtime. It was a long day in the hospital, waiting for his arrival. And then, suddenly, it was over.
A few weeks ago, I accepted a new job which I’ll start on Sep 6. When we set the start date, it seemed so far away. Just like the start of Junior High for F. So, so much has changed since his very first day of school and yet it still feels as though it was yesterday.
People love to offer advice around time, suggesting we savour moments. “Enjoy it,” they tell us; “The next thing you know, the kids are grown/you’re retiring/yadda yadda”. I won’t do that, mostly because I hate it when people do it to me but also because I know it’s not always savourable.
Sometime, the best way to enjoy a period of time is to think back on it later.
And it’s often then that we can see how, even when time was dragging on or seemed to be flying by, it always moved forward and brought us with it.