I’m not sure if it’s maternal denial or a side effect of the sugar coma from ingesting two pieces of birthday cake and a multitude of other treats tonight that has me in disbelief that my son turned three this week. Three? Are you kidding me?

It seems like the first six months of his life went by in normal speed, or sometimes even in slow motion when his colicky fussiness was peaking. In hindsight, it feels like we had so much time. Lazy days when long walks and tummy time were the heaviest things on our agenda. And then we were off to the races. It was as though there was a direct correlation between the speed of time passing and his increased mobility and self-sufficiency.

Of course, as will always be, there were other life events that naturally contributed to the whir and blur of time — moving, loss of a loved one, home renovations, returning to work, leaving work, pregnancy, birth, among others. My daughter can be the scapegoat for the past year and a half passing so quickly. Pregnancy and multiple children have a way of eating time. The pregnant time is spent in anticipation. I found it to be even more so with a subsequent pregnancy because you possess the intimate knowledge, which the first time around is more of an abstract expectation, of how incredibly wonderful it will be to welcome that new soul to the world and feel his or her warm body against yours for the first time. Then adding a new baby to the family means a busy juggling act. Making both children feel your love, keeping both clean, fed and clothed, changing way too many diapers, adjusting to new sleeping and eating schedules, and wondering how the heck those people with four or five kids manage not to go insane or at least have intermittent psychotic episodes where they walk down the street naked yelling at strangers.

This is what causes the disorders generic line viagra and ailments. Tadalis soft tabs act against PDE5 inhibitor and direct the blood supply cialis tadalafil 50mg towards vital organs of the body. He even fails to talk to his partner and always has fear to answer his partner’s cheapest viagra in uk question related to their physical relation. In this instance, it’s possible to prefer to try non-medication solutions for migraine. buy levitra without prescription The first three years are overrun with firsts. First touch, first smile, first rollover, first time sitting up, first tooth, first food, first crawl, first word, first birthday, first step, first sentence, first friends, running, jumping, singing and so on. It’s as though you jump on the developmental highway of firsts and it’s hard to put the brakes on and savor the everyday. As my son’s birthday was approaching, I found myself getting caught up in the unhealthy exercise of measuring out the future — four times his life so far, and he’ll be in middle school, five times and he’ll be in high school and on the brink of driving, six times and he’ll be off to college and voting age, seven times and he’ll be 21, nine times and he’ll be the age I was when I got married; okay, breathe, stop the hyperventilating. Let’s not rush.

And now, the birthday has passed. The squeeze hug that I insisted on giving at the exact minute of his birth was but a distraction to him that kept him a moment from playing with the toy trains. The birthday party is over. The concept of being another year older has no impression on him, except that he likes to tell me he’s a “big boy” and proudly give me his muscle pose. And he mostly remembers now to answer “three” when asked how old he is. But these are things that are coaxed from him by the grown ups around him that know too well the passage of time, the expectations and responsibilities that grow as the years pass, and who encourage revelry in youth because we know there are no do-overs. He is still at the point where he sees every day as a do-over. Every day presents a new opportunity, a new word learned, a new sight to see. For him, time has but a few measures — day, night, “after my nap” and when daddy gets home from work.

He’s recently started asking me what time it is; probably something he’s picked up from hearing his non-watch-wearing daddy ask me. No matter what time I tell him, he usually responds with the same declaration, “oooh, it’s late, mommy.” No, baby, it’s early, so early. And I can wait to have all the time in the world with you.

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