The Most Valuable Commodity

Time.  


It seems to pass so quickly these days.  This perception is only heightened by how quickly Morgen is changing.  Every day she seems bigger, more grown-up.  She is learning new things at what seems an alarming pace.  New shades of her personality are coming into view and we only fall in love with her more.


I long to be home with her to be an active part of her daily growth, but that isn't in the cards at this moment in time.


I don't think I fully appreciated the preciousness of time until the girls were born.  I had a sense of it when my father passed away from cancer nearly 14 years ago, but the loss of Sonne intensified this feeling.  I had no idea that time could be so valuable and so fleeting.


Eric is heading back to Toronto tomorrow for almost three weeks.  I hate his absences.  The time passes by in an instant, but I'm so cognizant of him being away.  I know he dreads being gone as well.  I know he misses me, that he aches to be with Morgen.  The two of them have gotten wonderfully close since he came back from his last Toronto trip in late January.  She is going to miss her daddy.  And while we will Skype every day, he knows there will be a set back.  Morgen will go back to her "only mommy will do" phase.  It will be brief, but I know it will be difficult for him.


Eric so loves his baby girl.


I'll make sure to tell Morgen that daily.  I will give her kisses and hugs from her daddy and, hopefully by the time he returns, "dada" will be a firm part of her vocabulary.  Of course, there aren't any firm words in her vocabulary...yet.


Before we know it she will be turning one.  I can only imagine what new things she will be doing by the time her birthday rolls around.  Will she be talking?  Will she be walking?  Will she like taking baths?  Will she be sleeping in her crib?


And then before we know it, Eric and I will be celebrating our 40th birthdays.


40 feels like this ominous number lurking just around the corner.  It's not that I have a problem turning 40.  In many ways it is just a number.  But it is a number with consequences when it comes to whether or not we decide to have more biological children.


Science has shown that a woman's fertility drops off significantly around age 40.


Sigh...


If only we had been ready sooner.  Not just to be parents, but to be in a relationship.  If only we had gotten our acts together 10 years earlier.


Of course, there is no way for us to know how being so much younger would have impacted our relationship or our children.  Morgen very likely would be a completely different baby.  Sonne might have never been conceived.  The stress of trying to get our lives together in so many other ways might have caused a rift between us.  We might not be settled and happy, despite the devastation of losing a child.


And had everything transpired the same with needing IVF, having twins, and losing a child, who knows if we would have weathered such trials in the same manner.


Clearly things happen in their own good time.  Things happen when they are meant to happen -- even if finding "meaning" isn't possible or even rational.


And yet the older I get, the more fleeting time becomes.  In the blink of an eye everything can change and it is up to each of us, as individuals, to determine if that change will be beneficial in the long run.


For now, I will try to stop focussing on time slipping away and instead try to enjoy each moment and treasure it for what it is -- a once in a lifetime opportunity.  A gift.

Pondering

I feel an incredible need to be more focused. Things are getting more and more hectic at every turn and I can't help but think if I could just focus things would be different, better.


I feel so disorganized as of late.  I'm sure part of it is the clutter -- at home and at work.


There are piles of filing in my office that I don't ever seem to have the time to address.  I managed to get everything sorted a while back and now those piles are languishing in file sorters.  They mock me on a daily basis and yet I have no time to get the papers properly filed away.  And, given how packed those accordion files are, I cannot add anything else to them and new files are beginning to grow along the edge of this little room.


At home it's the never ending battle of trying to get things put away.  We've begun throwing things out.  No longer am I holding onto every last thing with the thought that I might one day need it.  Nope.  Things that are broken and have no honest hope of repair -- trash.  Things that are superfluous -- trash.  Things that I just don't like, but have kept because they were a gift -- trash.


But it's not enough.  The clutter is a strange mythological creature.  You cut off one limb, it grows two more in its place.  One area is cleaned and suddenly two others seem exponentially messier.  We start one project only to have it not get completed and have no time available to change this fact.  


Our dog run remains only 20% completed.  Two panels installed with 6 more and a gate to go.  I have no idea when this will change.  It needs to get finished soon.  My garden beds are in upheaval as a result and I'm buying my tomato plants in a little over one week and every time I step outside I'm reminded of the incomplete job.  The hated project that we probably shouldn't have undertaken -- once again biting off more than we could possibly chew, despite the help of friends.  I actually tried to throw money at the project to make it go away (e.g., I offered the job to our gardener, but he's too busy to take on the extra work...damn).  So, in our desire to have a nice lawn for Morgen to play upon, we've created a massive eyesore.


And it's not something I can tackle on my own, so I really should move onto more manageable projects, but I fear that I'll once again start something which I cannot finish and there will be another area of our home which I dread.


Sigh...


In our attempts to make our home a more ideal place to live and raise our child, it's only getting more chaotic and disheveled.


I suppose no good deed goes unpunished.