Time

Time is a funny thing. Last year on this date, we were doing our final packing to fly out to California on our desperate voyage seeking hope. That was a lifetime ago. Yet, when I look at my children, I marvel at how quickly they are growing; how much they have changed in such a short time; and feel like it goes by too quickly.

How is this dichotomy possible? How can time fly and seem to take forever all at once?

I'm trying to reconcile the fact that DQ is still wearing the same exact clothes she wore last summer, still comfortably in the shoes we bought for last July, and still weighs the same (pretty much), with the fact that since last summer, I have been three totally different people. Before our trip, I was frantic, clinging to the hope that Stanford held our miracle. After that trip, I had learn to cope with the real possibility that surgery wouldn't work and DQ wouldn't be here with us. Then, after surgery, I had to learn how to let hope back in, how to accept the good, the wonderful, amazing gift we had in DQ and her marked improvement. To me, it feels like all of that growth and change took years and years.

Same outfit, same kid,but the pictures were taken almost one year apart.
Obviously, not much time has passed, but it feels like an eternity to me
when I think about how much has changed with regard to DQ.

 But it also feels like it was just yesterday that DQ was a toddler, using sign language as her major form of communication. And today she is a little girl, who not only speaks full sentences and paragraphs, but she makes up her own song lyrics on the spot. And TRex, gosh, TRex. I can clearly remember the feeling of his newborn body, sound asleep in my arms, yet he is going to be five in a few short weeks. How could he be going to kindergarten so quickly? And why I can't the time I spend relishing my babies as babies feel as long as the time I spent on worry and self-growth and change?