Slow down.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a grown up. When I was in college, I wanted to be done with school and out in the world. When I was dating Nate, I wanted to be married to him.

My mom told me not to wish it away, but I did anyway. Her words fell on deaf ears — as they say, youth is wasted on the young. I didn't know any better.

Yesterday at the grocery store, while I struggled to get Calvin strapped into the cart (he fights it now, as he fights most things I try to get him to do these days), a woman came up to me, put her hand on my arm, and said, "It goes so fast." I stopped and looked up at her, and she went on, "My baby is starting college this fall, and I remember him being this small so well. I can't believe it. It just goes so fast." After exchanging a few pleasantries, she walked away, I finally managed to get Calvin strapped in, and we went about our shopping.

But her words stayed with me all day.

It goes so fast.

For so long, I wanted to get to the next thing. I wanted to grow up so I could drive and have freedom from my parents. I wanted to graduate so I could have a job, and money, and my own place to live. I wanted to get married because I was in love and wanted a shiny ring and the title of Mrs.

I want, I want, I want.

I got. I got it all. And I didn't rush into any of it — didn't get my driver's license until I was 17, didn't go away to college until I was a sophomore, didn't get married until I was 26, didn't become a mom until I was 30. I had time to do the things I wanted to do...I played, I dated, I traveled, I slept.

I didn't rush it, but all the while I wished for the next thing to hurry up and happen to me already. I was never content to just be. And then the next thing would come for me, and I'd look back and think...wow. I wish I'd __________ more often, back when I could.

I realized recently that there's not really a next thing. All of the things I was anxious to have happen to me have happened already. I got engaged, had a wedding, bought a house, adopted a dog, had a baby. The next big thing for me is retirement. Of course that doesn't include having more children or celebrating their milestones. But as far as MY big milestones go — well, with the exception of retirement and becoming a grandparent, I'm pretty much done.

So where does that leave me? In it. I'm in my life. I'm not waiting for it to happen, I'm in it. All the waiting and wishing and dreaming has led me right here, to St. Paul, Minnesota. To a very happy life with my little family. Just what I always wanted.

Yet I find myself wishing this away, too. I get frustrated with Calvin and I think — gosh, if he was just a little older, maybe five or six, things would be so much easier. I can't wait until he's five and we can __________. But he'll be five soon enough. And then he'll be 25. And then I'll be stopping frazzled young moms in the grocery store to warn them of the fleeting nature of time, of childhood, of life.

The woman who put her hand on my arm yesterday was not the first to do so. Everywhere we go, people stop to tell me about their grown children, and how it seems like just yesterday they were small like mine. I smile and chatter with them for a moment, say goodbye, and go about my day. But I always tuck these conversations into the back of my mind. And for a few days after, I hold Calvin a little tighter, rock him a little longer, and love him a little more.

I welcome these little reminders from strangers, because all too often I forget that I already have everything I ever wanted. That this time in my life is incredibly precious. That I won't always have the pleasure of grocery shopping with my sweet-faced, sticky-fingered little boy in the cart. That it all goes by so fast.

And that I need to slow down and enjoy it, this blessed life of mine.