At the Mercy of the Universe’s Clock

home insemination Kit

I thought I had a firm handle on time before I became a parent. I could manage appointments, plan my days, and meet deadlines. Time was my loyal servant—until it staged an unexpected rebellion.

Once the kids showed up, every moment became dictated by the clock: mealtime, bath time, playtime, and, oh, the sweet relief of naptime. I had to weave my day around these events; otherwise, chaos would reign. My eldest thrived on routine, needing to know what was next, counting down the “sleeps” until the next big thing. The youngest? He was a free spirit, avoiding sleep at all costs for fear of missing out on the action.

Balancing these two personalities was clearly part of the universe’s cosmic joke. Toddlers exist outside the boundaries of time. This is why you never, ever tell a little one about an event more than five minutes ahead. Their emotions are like volcanoes; anticipation is a pressure cooker. “When are we going to see Santa? Is it time yet? Can it be time now? Mommy, Santa, Mommy!” Mention Christmas in passing in October, and you’ll hear about it approximately 157,000 times daily for the next three months.

Minutes are irrelevant. They’re like grains of sand in an hourglass that’s being violently shaken by small, sticky hands. You try to signal for just a moment while on the phone: “Just a minute, sweetie.” At the grocery store: “Hold on a sec, darling.” And in the bathroom, desperately: “For the love of all that’s holy, in a minute!”

Once, I was stuck in a long line at the post office, trying to mail six hefty boxes of holiday gifts stacked on the counter. As the line crawled forward, I inched the boxes and my squirming toddler along with me. Of course, she suddenly needed to use the bathroom—because she definitely didn’t need to go before we left home. “Can you wait a minute, pumpkin?” She nodded sweetly, then promptly let loose all over the counter. In toddler language, “wait a minute” translates to “right now.”

Parenting is a constant series of “now” moments. From the moment you conceive, it’s a whirlwind of needing to eat now, sleep now, and labor now. Babies demand to be comforted immediately. Little ones want everything this very second. As soon as they can talk, it’s “Watch me! Are you watching? Look what I can do now!” It’s utterly exhausting. Some days, you find yourself wishing time would fly by. Bedtime can’t come soon enough. If only they could walk, talk, be out of diapers, and show more independence! Some days, the ones you merely survive, stretch on forever. Others, the ones filled with cuddles and smiles just for you, you wish you could freeze in time.

Then there are the moments of waiting. Eventually, as they start to grasp the concept of time, instead of making life easier, it backfires, and you find yourself waiting endlessly. The minutes you longed for now come with the dreaded prefix “five more.” Time for bed? “Five more minutes?” Time for dinner? “Five more minutes! I’m almost at the next level/waiting for this show to finish/on the phone/doing my hair/catching a Pokémon.” Some days, you wish they’d just hurry up. How long does it take a human to finish a bowl of cereal? Find their shoes? Walk to the car? For crying out loud, we’re going to be late for school/practice/church/life again! Those days spent in a frantic haze of schedules and obligations seem to disappear in a whirlwind of chaos—you’re the white rabbit in Alice’s world.

As they grow into teens, the moments of “later” become the norm. When will you take out the trash? “Later.” Got any homework? “I’ll do it later.” When will you be home? “Later.” How about scheduling a college visit? “Can we do that later? Gotta run, Mom, I’ll text you later.” Their time becomes more theirs and less yours, transforming “now” into “whenever.” It’s rare to hear them shout, “Watch me!” They prefer privacy, hands-off. Yet you still anxiously watch the clock when they’re out late, biting your tongue, waiting to be included in their world of heartbreaks and triumphs. With fewer demands on your time, it paradoxically feels like time is slipping away faster, each grain falling through your fingers as you try to catch them. Time bends: the days are long, but the years are fleeting.

I’m now on the brink of an empty nest, where I’ll reclaim my ability to schedule my days without interruptions. Ironically, I stopped wearing a watch about a year ago. My oldest turns 20 this week—a milestone I can hardly fathom. All those “now”s, “hurry up”s, and “later”s feel both like yesterday and eons ago. Suddenly, I find myself wishing to pause for just a moment. Just a minute! Five more minutes? But the relentless march of time continues.

If you want to explore more about family-building options, check out this excellent resource. Alternatively, for those interested in home insemination, you can find valuable information here.

In summary, parenting is a wild ride of time management, filled with moments that shift from urgent demands to prolonged waits. As children grow, the relationship with time evolves, bringing both challenges and nostalgia.