So, it turns out kids DO actually grow up fast

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“They grow up so fast”.

It’s one of a handful of most irritating and routine cliches you get as a parent. It sounds benign enough. It’s in almost every TV show and movie in history with kids. You get it at malls, the library, school, on the street. Up to now I’ve seen it as a vile and useless triteism that has ZERO value or application in the day to day grind that is parenting two (or more) kids under (at this writing) 6.

Yes, I hear it. I’m maybe just a little angry about it.

I probably don’t need to be. But with my kids, and our lives up to this point, nothing has been fast. Everything has been slow.

Potty training. Sleep training. Behaviour issues. Thumb sucking. Tantrums. Yelling. Car-hating. Eating. Just getting out of the house on any routine day is a tiny war.

It’s aged me.

And it’s the stuff that bubbles up when people tilt their head that little 15 degree angle to the left and shake it knowingly with a click of the teeth and a smile and say: “Awwww, they grow up so fast don’t they?”.

No, rando stranger. No they don’t. They grow up slow. They grow up so slow. They grow up slow and life is hard. You obviously don’t have kids.

Or you’re an empty nester.

Which actually turns out to be a person of moderate value to a new parent or parent of young kids. More on the later.

Because in my life, suddenly something started happening

My kids started growing up.

They’ve grown. They’ve gotten taller. They’re looking older. They’re getting bigger. They’re saying more. Using more complex sentences. Having insightful questions. Being more active. Doing more sports. Reading books.

And why is that surprising?

Because it did, actually, happen — (sort of) fast.

As a parent you wake up one day and suddenly your kids’ clothes don’t fit. Their legs will be longer. They’ll have gotten leaner. Lost some baby fat. An entire drawer of pants will be too short or too tight.

There are bins of old baby clothes in the basement. And baby toys. And even toddler toys. And toddler clothes. Stuff that not long ago was in regular use. Stuff that I liked and grew attached to. Stuff that is now to be sold or given away.

And then there are the photos.

Our daycare sends daily photos of our 3.5 year old’s exploits. And they archive the old ones. I was just scrolling through a few from a year ago. He was so small. His hair was curly. He was a little bear. He looked so young.

Now he’s bordering 40lbs. His hair has changed. He’s taller than many Junior Kindergarteners. He’s doing Taekwondo.

He and his brother ARE, actually, growing up fast.

The rando at the park or in the parking lot with the head tilt was right.

It doesn’t happen fast initially.

It sneaks up on you. You don’t notice amid the fog and fatigue and memory loss. Until.

BAM. They’ve grown.

On my desktop I have a photo of my oldest. He was 3 in his last year of daycare. He was smiling and jumping through hoops on a sports day. He was wearing a super familiar outfit, wearing his Toronto Blue Jays hat that he loved, tongue hanging out, happy.

Now he’s almost 6.

In the midst of the day to day life grind, making meals, washing clothes, packing lunches, doing activities, planning activities, signing up for activities, stressing about not doing enough activities and missing the 7am sign up for activities, buying clothes, disciplining, they have grown up. 3 and 5 is still young, no doubt. But from 0, that’s a jump. And it’s not just small things that are happening.

They’re graduating things. They’re starting new adventures. They’re hitting milstones.

They’re growing up.

Fast.

And while I still despise admitting the adage may actually be true, they are in fact doing just that.

The rando parking lot parent

The other day I was leaving the grocery store, putting my oldest into his carseat. A woman walks up to the car next to mine in the lot. My door was open as I got my kid strapped in and she waiting patiently. She said don’t rush, no worries. And then she did the head tilt.

“How old are they?”.

I said 5 and 3 and a half.

She said, “Enjoy that age. It goes by fast.”

I rolled my eyes inadvertently. I started into my tirade about how it actually doesn’t go by fast, thank you very much, it goes by slow. Ultra slow.

But instead of stopping there she calmly and knowingly nodded, then said, “Ya, that’s a hard age. You’re probably the most tired you’ll be. But it goes by fast. Then they grow up and don’t want anything to do with you”. She laughed. Then said, “But then they come back”.

Her kids were in their mid twenties now. She seemed not quite sad, but accepting and nostalgic.

She missed it. She missed this age.

And it got me thinking.

My wife and I have tried our absolute best to enjoy every minute, despite the vast majority of those minutes being difficult, fatigued, challenging, battered, and bewildered. And there’s another “ism” I’ve learned that is true and a much more actually useful:

“The days are long but the years are short”.

I’ve volunteered in my youngest’s daycare class for the past year. I did my second last session today. It’s second last because after the next one, he GRADUATES.

If I didn’t have kids I would chuckle at the wording “graduating from daycare”. But it actually IS momentous. He goes to junior kindergarten next fall. That’s school. He starts school. He’ll be 4. The calm, soft, beige, organic lunch, cot-nap, montessori environment he’s lived in for the past most of 2.5 years is coming to an end.

It’s beautiful and amazing. But it makes me sad.

They’re growing up. Fast.