The Day She Became My Forever

I recently read that with kids, things eventually just click. Whether it’s crawling, walking, reading, or riding a bike, the seemingly eternal waiting game of watching them learn a new skill just vanishes in one instant and they are soon running a marathon, writing a book, or riding in the Tour de France.

But what about parenting?

The movies would have you think that that the moment a child is born all the planets align and there is an overwhelming feeling that parent s are ready and aware that this is their new forever. The movies lie.

Physically, we instantly morph into parents because we have no choice. We survive the first months (some would argue forever) through trial, error, adrenaline, and coffee. We figure out how to fold the swaddle so it stays in place for more than 10 minutes, how to cook one-handed, how to work a full day and still have energy to play at home, and how to sneak a few extra minutes of sleep somewhere, anywhere.

The last thing on our mind is what it truly means to be a mom or a dad. We struggle enough just remembering what it means to be a human.

I remember saying to Mrs. FWL countless times, “I can’t believe she is with us forever.” I truly meant it. I could not wrap my head around the fact that this little, wrinkly, alien-looking girl that kept us up at night yet brought us so much joy, would be in our lives forever. It seemed so surreal.

But there comes a moment when the gravity of forever just clicks. When the struggles become less painful. When the sight of your child melts your heart instead of reminding you that you were both up at 3am. When holding them makes you feel more pride than you’ve ever felt in your life. When the smell of their flaky scalp is the best thing you’ve smelled all day. When you aren’t afraid to stick your nose directly in their butt to investigate. When you get joy at sucking mucus out of their nose so they can breathe. When you hold her after a long day and she cares more about your shirt collar and buttons than the kisses on her cheek. When them simply holding your finger during bath brings you comfort.

It all clicked for me one day in February. Isabel and I were in the backyard playing Circus for the first time; she flying above me, laughing, screaming, and her drool falling in my face, and me introducing to her a game I played with my dad, and Mrs. FWL with hers. It was in this moment that I truly felt like her papa. And while still surreal, forever made sense.

And from that moment on I have loved her stronger and held her closer. I play with more purpose and vigor. The phone notifications screaming for my attention wait to be answered. The computer stays closed longer. When I carry her, she feels like an extension of me. I physically feel different with her, looking at her, and thinking about her.

Recently we were at a wedding, and while the father of the bride was speaking to his daughter, all I could think about was Isabel. All I could think about was standing at her wedding, speaking to her guests. Perhaps I will even read this exact story about a warm day in February when she changed me forever.

A day in February when forever became now.