You don't lose time... you relearn what it's for
On raising children in a hurrying world and the quiet work of slowing down
I was scrolling through the drafts section of my Substack and found a short piece I wrote back when my daughter was 13 months old. I never finished it but I loved where it was going. Reading it now made me smile.
It was about groceries. About water bottles. About a morning that should have taken ten seconds.
That morning, I asked my 13 month old to help me put the water bottles in the fridge.
That sentence alone should tell you how the rest of it went.
I opened the fridge. She reached for a bottle with the seriousness of someone handling something sacred. She inspected it with both hands. Smiled at it. Gave it to me. And before I could finish saying thank you, she grabs another.
What should have taken ten seconds took several minutes. There are still many items to put away. I only have a small window to get dinner ready before we get into bedtime routines and the whole shabam.
I had every reason to rush through the rest of it.
But then I looked at my daughter’s face.
Pure focus.
Pride.
The unmistakable glow of a tiny being who knows she is useful.
When she got on her tippy toes and the bottle finally landed on the shelf, she clapped. Not for me for herself.
The joy and instilled confidence glistened when she realized she could do it.
This is the subtle recalibration of motherhood that no one really explains.
You don’t just ‘lose’ time… You relearn what its for.
You get deeply anchored into its purpose.
Everything takes longer now.
Shoes. Dishes. Groceries. Getting out the door. Putting water in the fridge.
But it’s in the slowing that you can see things that you would have missed if you were living life on full speed. The way her brow furrows with complete concentration. The way helping her mama feels like joy to her. The way her confidence is built not in one big moment but one task at a time.
I’ve often heard of a saying that kids slow you down.
And I’ve heard it framed as a warning. But now that the same 13 month old is almost 3 years old, I can say utterly and completely, that having kids is an invitation.
The whole point isn’t to get back to the pace you had before they came into your world.
The whole point is to notice what shows up when you stop trying to outrun your life.
Maybe it’s an invitation to let them teach us.
Maybe it’s to let a 13 month old teach me that something as simple as putting water bottles away can be an event worth clapping for.
Maybe it’s teaching me to slow down, take some breaths, laugh and smile with her, heed to the richness of the moment, meet her exactly where she is.
Maybe it’s to admit that what feels difficult isn’t children at all-
Maybe what’s difficult is being a child in a world full of distracted, busy, rushing adults.
Today she can crack 10 eggs into a bowl without a single shell and whisk them well. We have fun making our morning pancakes together. She knows how to put her own shoes. How to wear her pants. She knows where the forks and spoons go in the drawer. She can use the potty completely on her own. She is her own independent and creative imaginative thinker. But none of this happened by accident. She’s been practicing since she was barely more than a baby.
From the outside looking in, it may look like I taught her.
Because somewhere along the lines, she taught me.
She taught me that I don’t need to do things on my own just because ‘I can get it done right and faster.’
She taught me patience even when there’s still a list of things to do before the day ends.
She taught me that inviting her into my life, into the ordinary work of living is how I create moments that are meaningful.
Not just beside me but with me.
She finds comfort, safety and belonging when she gets to actively participate in life with me- not just by watching me. And now, I am better mother to her and her baby sister. I am a better person.
Children don’t need to be distracted.
They need to be involved.
I love the joy she shows in being apart of it all.
And you know what?
Maybe that’s what slowing down was meant to give us after all. 🍵
Warmly,
