When the Milestones of Motherhood Come Way Too Fast

Sometimes the cycles push us into seasons before we feel ready.

Back to school supplies flood the aisles and the clearance floaties and sunscreen and coolers line the back end caps with red stickers and slashed prices.

And then 5 subject notebooks, dorm room matching comforter sets, Crayolas, and boxes of number two pencils are clearanced to make room for pumpkins and costumes and bags of candy corn.

And those kids with their summer-browned limbs fade away too. Maybe off on their first day of Kindergarten when you place them on the front porch and they smile wide and toothy flashing the first day of school sign you printed off Pinterest. And their backpack is bigger than their whole torso leaving them looking lopsided and weighed down but it’s your shoulders you held back from rushing to them when they turned around with one last glance before disappearing into the classroom.

You may have gone back to your car and cried because it’s all too fast, or sighed in relief that it’s a new chapter, or both.

Maybe they’re off on their own, maybe you drove them across the country and set them up with boxes of stuff to make it feel homey and you met their roommate and made them pose for pictures and you hugged them extra tight but you drove home alone. Now when they come home, they’ll be visiting. And you’re so proud and so scared and it’s all new for you too.

It came so fast.

Because soon you’ll walk the aisles of Target and there’ll be pumpkin costumes and you’ll remember when you wheeled them around your local pumpkin patch and they picked the most wonky elongated pumpkin and they wanted to carve it themselves so you got a knife that wouldn’t instantly sever fingers but you still wrapped your hand over theirs and edged the hollows out and let them stay up past dark to light it up and set it on the porch. But suddenly you feel hollowed out too.

We live a thousand seasons with one memory. Sometimes we ache with them.

It doesn’t matter what season is upon me, I seldom feel ready and yet they never wait.

Costco will stock aisles of gifts and wrapping paper and giant inflatable snowmen. Yet our Dahlias are still in bloom in the garden. The first frost will slay them and it’s coming whether I’m ready or not.

Alia Joy
Alia Joyhttp://aliajoy.com/
Alia Joy is the daughter of both a book lover and a storyteller and in that she was destined to be a writer. She is a collector of words, speaker, and homeschooling mother of three making her home in Central Oregon with her husband, Josh, her mother, a bunny, and a bunch of chickens. She shares her life with readers of her blog- Aliajoy.com -weaving beauty throughout even the most broken of stories. Her work touches on so many of the hurts of today's women- depression and abuse, race and culture, body image and the hard work of seeing God's glory in the mess. Alia's unique perspective and raw vulnerability make her an approachable voice, a place to come and say, "me too." She is also a regular monthly contributor at (in)courage, SheLoves Magazine, GraceTable, The Mudroom, and Deeper Waters. She is currently at work on her first book.

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