There’s a song in the country genre that talks about a girl that wants to grow up too fast. “You’re gonna miss this, you’re gonna want this back, you’re gonna wish these days hadn’t gone by so fast…”
If I think about it, there are two sides to consider. One, I really have two types of memories from my childhood: the wonderful days and the horrendous ones, like Jay in third grade telling me those things (moles) on my neck made me look ugly. When there aren’t bad memories, the good ones soak up my attention: exploring nature and kayaking with my sister, dad and aunt, or the zoo with my mom and 10 or so other kids from the in-home daycare my mom ran.
Thoughts like these truly bring happiness to my heart. I do miss being a kid sometimes. Like when the bills are due, stressing over money and jobs, funerals and sickness all come knocking on the door more often than I would like. I miss fishing with my Grandpa. Going camping with the family. Adventuring in Arkansas and Arizona.
Logically though, I know that as a defense mechanism, we tend to mostly remember the good times and block out pain. This is the same thing mothers do with childbirth—their love for their child quiets the trauma the body experienced. All things considered, the human race wouldn’t exist without this phenomena.
Even remembering the recent years, my brain still reverts to the happier side of the path. I know pain was there, and sadness too, but I’m able to see the past with 20/20 hindsight.
I have a feeling that eventually bringing the monumental change of bringing a child into our lives will prompt missing the days when it was just me and my husband, going through life together. I’m lucky enough to know that despite the hardships and fights that we’ve had, the serendipitous ones will shine brightest.