A Few More Augusts: A Journey Through Parenting

home insemination Kit

Shopping for shoes with my two rambunctious boys has always been a chaotic endeavor—one I often postpone until the frantic days leading up to the school year. Convincing them to try on shoes is like negotiating a peace treaty; they moan about the fit, insisting they’re too big, too small, or that the tags are itchy.

This past August was no exception. My eldest, Max, had his heart set on gray shoes, while little Leo was adamant about getting light-up blue ones. As we searched for their sizes, it hit me: Max had outgrown youth sizes. The saleslady, with a sympathetic smile, informed me, “Mom, I think he’s in men’s sizes now.” Max grinned, while I fought back tears, grappling with the bittersweet reality of my growing boy.

That night, as I tucked him in with his favorite blanket, I reflected on our past shoe-shopping escapades, feeling a mix of pride and nostalgia over how much easier it had become. Max was nonverbal until the age of four, and after his autism diagnosis, our days were consumed with endless therapy sessions. Progress was slow—like grains of sand on a vast beach.

My mantra became, “If I can just get him to the next milestone.” In the chaos, Leo was also diagnosed with autism, doubling our therapy visits and worries. Those small victories became our lifeline. Eventually, Max learned to communicate and thrived in a gifted classroom, but as life settled, I found myself plagued by regret. I had been so laser-focused on goals that I missed the everyday magic unfolding around me.

Milestones quickly morphed into routine. Once Max could speak, I forgot the countless hours spent shuttling him to therapy, replacing it with driving to soccer practice and music lessons. This became our new normal, as time slyly slips through our fingers.

Eight months into the school year, Max told me his shoes were too tight. Looking down at his carefully chosen gray shoes, I noticed tiny holes where his toes peeked through. A few days later, we headed to the shoe store—just the two of us. After picking out a few pairs, he struggled to fit into the next size up. Suddenly, we weren’t just dipping our toes into men’s sizes; we were fully immersed, three sizes deeper.

As we sat on the bench surrounded by brands like Nike and Asics, I finally saw him—not just my little boy who struggled to speak, but a confident young man with feet larger than mine. As we walked to checkout, Max babbled excitedly about who knows what, while the world around me spun in a blur. The cashier exclaimed, “Oh! Big boy shoes!” Max beamed, and I felt a wave of emotion threaten to overwhelm me.

When did this transformation happen? Was it last month, last year, or last August when we were just on the cusp of the men’s aisle? Was it when we applied to the middle school that would lead to a high school and then a college? Time has a way of sneaking up on you.

We’ve all heard the advice: “Don’t blink.” I’ve read countless articles on mindful parenting, striving to soak in every moment, but the more I try to hold on, the swifter time seems to fly. I desperately replay the film of his life in my mind, but gaps remain, moments lost in everyday monotony.

This bittersweet journey of parenting feels like heartbreak wrapped in love. I look at Max with immense pride, yet my heart feels shattered into tiny grains of sand, scattered far and wide, each piece a memory I can’t quite reclaim. Yet, I still have a few more Augusts to cherish these fleeting moments, knowing there’s an entire shore upon which to build new memories. For more insights into navigating similar experiences, check out this blog post.

Until the next lesson, I’ll continue tucking him in at night, grateful for these moments while preparing for what lies ahead.