I went through photographs today.
I do this sometimes.
I stared into the eyes of my little one at the tender age of 3 months, 6months, a year, and so on…
Tears welled up.
One particular photo got me thinking…
It is a picture of Gracie, 6 months old, sitting in a moving box. She is completely nude except for a diaper and a pink bow in her hair. She is happy, and it looks as if I caught her playing peek-a-boo with herself. With herself. The questions poured…
Why with herself? How did she look when she crawled over to and under the box? Did I play with her for awhile? Did I pick her up, smell her sweet baby skin and kiss her neck? What did she sound like when she giggled?
I wish I could remember the details.
Photo upon photo this thought kept coming to me; I wish I could remember the sweet details.
Instead I remembered ridiculous things like how fat I felt or how much a ferry ticket cost.
Like a bullet piercing my heart I realized that I had missed out on so much.
I still miss out.
I miss out because I am too busy being busy. Often I do not contently listen to the gut wrenching giggles from my 4 year old as she rolls around with the dog, instead I dream of someday owning a dog that doesn’t shed.
Too often I trade minutes of watching the magic within my beautiful daughter for a stupid broom. Just a few days ago I missed out on savoring the sun shining down on my face, as I sat in the backyard with my family, because I was too immersed in taking mental notes of much needed home improvements.
Why do I focus so much of my energy on plotting, planning, and preparing for tomorrow as if tomorrow has already been promised to me?
I do not live in the moment enough.
This became perfectly clear once I realized that so many moments are already gone…
“ I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.”
-Anna Quindlen