Time. It’s a complex thing.
It passes.
It waits for no man.
It stands still.
Einstein says its relative.
Rod Stewart says it’s on our side.

I’ve decided it’s not my friend. After spending the first 20ish years of my life welcoming time and the change it brings, I have seen it for what it truly is- the enemy of motherhood. I feel like I have finally pulled back the curtain of the great and powerful Oz of time, but instead of a little bald man like in the Wizzard of Oz movie, all there really is is a pile of sand and some waves. Let me explain.

I fell in love with Eloise the very moment I saw her. I figured that would happen, since even pretty self centered and rotten people seem to love their children. I took one look at her and decided, “Yep. This one’s a keeper”. So that is what I have been trying to do: Keep her. Memorize her. Freeze her forever in a taxidermy of love. I want to hang her on my wall and watch as years pass and she still stays the same, the perfect little miracle that God unexpectedly dropped on our doorstep. When people come over I would bring them in to the Eloise trophy room where she would hang, toothless and smiling, and I would be able to show them how wonderful she is and how happy she has made me.

But obviously that is not going to happen. Not just because mentioning taxidermy and your own child in the same sentence is grounds for DHR involvement, but because I will never be able to choose just one version of her to love forever. Such a thing doesn’t exist.

Since she and I have met five months ago, there have been hundreds of moments where I have said, “THIS is the Eloise I want forever”. Then, seconds later, just as I have tried to capture her in my mind, I find myself saying, “No THIS is the Eloise I want forever”, and the process starts again. This goes on all day, every day, so that I can’t seem to formulate a concrete version of her at all. She is always changing. My brain can’t freeze her fast enough.

That’s where the sand I mentioned earlier comes in. Loving my child is like loving a sandcastle. I spent nine months “building” her very carefully. I dreamt of the day she would finally be complete and we could finally start having adventures together on the shore. When that day came, I took one good look at her and said, “yep, she’s a keeper- let me remember her forever” and as soon as I did, a wave came and washed some of her away. I built a little more on and tried to remember her again, and sure enough, a wave came and changed her again. If I try to hold her close she crumbled as well. So all I can do is sit with sand in my crack and watch as the waves of time change my precious baby daughter again and again and again. And I’m told this is what happens for the rest of our lives. No moment is weighty enough, no mental condition is sharp enough- it all slips by. I’ve tried the purple and slimy Eloise in a birthing pool, then the tiny sleeping ball of baby Eloise, the late night feeding Eloise, the first smile Eloise, the Eloise who puts her hand over my heart like a small pink starfish, the first bites of banana Eloise, the johnny-jump-up Eloise, the snuggly Eloise, the laughing Eloise- none of it can be frozen forever. Pretty soon it will be the first tooth Eloise, dance lessons Eloise, first day of kindergarten Eloise, school play Eloise, driving car Eloise, college Eloise, wedding Eloise, mother Eloise…

…and tears are streaming down my face as I write this. Time doesn’t stop. I grasp again and again at her to hold her forever, but there is no use. There is no such thing as taxidermy for a sandcastle. I can’t have her forever. And I have to be okay with that. But I’m not yet. I don’t know if I will ever be. Maybe it is my right as a mother to hate time. After all, it doesn’t do me any favors either (saggy body parts and wrinkles, anyone?).

So and So there you have it. Take it from me, Rod Stewart doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Time is not on our side. It’s a sham.