You might remember me writing about a sticky situation between Baby I and my husband, A. Today, I was feeling confident enough to finally (finally) write a piece about that situation getting a little better. I wrote a line about catching a glimpse of a life where we all three lived like a real family.
And then I got to thinking about the word glimpse (us writers do that. Get stuck on words.)
The essence of a glimpse (momentary, passing) is like life with a child. Or, I suppose, life in general. But I will say that having Baby I was like pressing the fast forward button – life is moving so much more quickly than it did before. I was pregnant with her. Blink. She was here. Blink. She was crawling. Blink. She’s nine months old, THIS CLOSE to walking and talking. Blink.
I’ve told people before that certain things she does give me glimpses into the person she will be. The way she sleeps, all spread out, mouth relaxed, hands above her head. The way she stands, holding her stuffed Big Bird down at her side. The way she smiles when she’s drinking water out of her sippy cup. I see a child, not a baby.
In some ways, the future seems so near. In others, I can’t see it at all.
Do you ever catch little glimpses of your future? Is it so difficult to hold on to them? Do you even want to?