They tell you very early on — when your child is still snuggly wrapped in the white, blue and pink striped blanket from the hospital — that it all goes by too fast. And for the first five years of my daughter’s beautiful life, I thought they were all full of it.
Those days of diaper changes, 3 a.m. feedings, unsuccessful attempts at getting them back to sleep, strapping them in and out of car seats, hauling that stroller everywhere you go, bringing them their own neatly sorted kit of food on trips, finding daycare, trusting daycare, cleaning up spills, cleaning up spills and cleaning up spills … those days drag, my friends. If you’re lucky — and I was lucky — you love every long second of it, because deep down you know there will be a day when you don’t need to read a bedtime story, a day when you can no longer pick them up and a day when they’re not embarrassed to be around you.
But still. Years 1-5 take forever.
Whey “they” don’t tell you is that at some point, it does fly by. I’m writing this column two days after taking my oldest of three to the DMV to take her driver’s test. I write this just one day after the first time she asked if she could grab the keys, pick up her friend down the road and go get some ice cream. And in just a few days, we’ll be handing her the keys to a vehicle that will, whether I like it or not, will be hers.
And I say this without a shred of sensationalism for column’s sake — it feels like only yesterday she was performing a dance routine in her elementary school graduation ceremony. In fact, that was during COVID. It really was just yesterday, in the grand scheme of things.
Facebook is doing me no favors with its constant “memories” reminders showing me her first steps, her Harry Potter-themed birthday party and the first time she performed as a dancing plate in a “Beauty and the Beast” musical. I’m dumbfounded that we got to this point, and I find myself wanting to warn colleagues who’ve become new parents that it really does go by in a blink.
The knife in my heart was pushed in a little deeper while all of this was happening when my daughter received her first letter from an in-state college, letting her (and her parents) know that her next step toward adulthood is right around the corner.
Thirty months away. Thirty months.
Part of me wants to hide all future admissions letters, and part of me wants to be excited about this monumental time of life she’s about to experience. (And another part of me wants to ask Campbell why they haven’t reached out).
Those same parents who were quick to warn me about the passage of time 16 years ago — I need their advice again. How do I not focus on the inevitable? How do I fully appreciate the time she still lives under my roof? How do I let go and trust that this world isn’t as terrible as I sometimes believe it can be?
How can this be so sad and exciting at once?
She’s not our only child. She has two younger brothers, both of whom are equally brilliant in my eyes and both of whom are starting to become their own people (despite their current incessant middle school infatuation with the numbers 6 and 7).
But you only have one “first,” and thinking about all of this — and putting my thoughts to paper — has been a struggle. I am fully aware I am incredibly fortunate to be at this point, and none of that is lost on me. But it still hurts.
Lucky for me, I have access to a whole network of men and women with a vested interest in higher education, and many of you are parents of soon-to-be parents of a Campbell student. I welcome your advice — not just on how to navigate these next 30 months, but how to be there for them and help guide their big decisions.
Billy Liggett is editor of Campbell Magazine. Reach him by email at liggettb@campbell.edu