All you
remember
All you
remember about your child being an infant is the incredible awe you felt about
the precious miracle you created. You remember having plenty of time to bestow
all your wisdom and knowledge. You thought your child would take all of your
advice and make fewer mistakes, and be much smarter than you were. You wished
for your child to hurry and grow up. 
All you remember about your child being two is never using the restroom alone
or getting to watch a movie without talking animals. You recall afternoons
talking on the phone while crouching in the bedroom closet, and being convinced
your child would be the first Ivy League1 college student to graduate wearing
pullovers at the ceremony. You remember worrying about the bag of M＆M's melting
in your pocket and ruining your good dress. You wished for your child to be more
independent.
All you remember about your child being five is the first day of school and
finally having the house to yourself. You remember joining the PTA and being
elected president when you left a meeting to use the restroom. You remember
being asked "Is Santa real?" and saying "yes" because he had to be for a little
bit longer. You remember shaking the sofa cushions for loose change, so the
toothfairy could come and take away your child's first lost tooth. You wished
for your child to have all permanent teeth.
All you remember about your child being seven is the carpool schedule. You
learned to apply makeup in two minutes and brush your teeth in the rearview
mirror because the only time you had to yourself was when you were stopped at
red lights. You considered painting your car yellow and posting a "taxi" sign on
the lawn next to the garage door. You remember people staring at you, the few
times you were out of the car, because you kept flexing your foot and making
acceleration noises. You wished for the day your child would learn how to
drive.
All you remember about your child being ten is managing the school
fundraisers. You sold wrapping paper for paint, T shirts for new furniture, and
magazine subscriptions for shade trees in the school playground. You remember
storing a hundred cases of candy bars in the garage to sell so the school band
could get new uniforms, and how they melted together on an unseasonably5 warm
spring afternoon. You wished your child would grow out of playing an
instrument.
All you remember about your child being twelve is sitting in
the stands during baseball practice and hoping your child's team would strike
out fast because you had more important things to do at home. The coach didn't
understand how busy you were. You wished the baseball season would be over soon.
All you remember about your child being fourteen is being asked not to stop
the car in front of the school in the morning. You had to drive two blocks
further and unlock the doors without coming to a complete stop. You remember not
getting to kiss your child goodbye or talking to him in front of his friends.
You wished your child would be more mature.
All you remember about your child being sixteen is loud music and
undecipherable lyrics screamed to a rhythmic beat. You wished for your child
to grow up and leave home with the stereo.
All you remember about your child being eighteen is the day they were born
and having all the time in the world.
And, as you walk through your quiet house, you wonder where they went and you
wish your child hadn't grown up so fast.
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