When you have three little ones under five, mornings can feel like a well-choreographed dance, a fleeting moment of order before the day spirals into joyful chaos. As dawn breaks, I prepare for the day in silence, carefully organizing my thoughts like a thread unwinding in the dark. But once the kids wake up, all bets are off.
By evening, I find myself frayed at the edges, but those early hours? They belong to me. I tackle my routine with precision: brew coffee, pack lunches, let the dog out while giving her a stern warning to stay quiet, then stealthily settle at the kitchen table with breakfast, my drink, and a smidge of the news.
Now, let’s be honest — the “news” I consume is mostly superficial. A quick scroll through Twitter, a brief glance at Facebook, and a few pages of The New Yorker for appearances. But the real gem of my morning ritual? TimeHop. It’s the app I can’t bring myself to open until I’ve had my fill of breakfast and a moment of quiet reflection.
In theory, TimeHop is like a highlight reel of our lives, a nostalgic montage we all wish someone would curate for us. It’s reminiscent of the slideshow at a rehearsal dinner meant to elicit smiles, laughter, and perhaps a cringe or two over past fashion choices. Yet, for me, TimeHop has become an emotional rollercoaster, especially as a parent to a child with special needs.
Not too long ago, TimeHop was a delightful stroll down memory lane, but now it feels more like a bittersweet journey. The last five years have been filled with intense moments — time spent in the NICU, countless therapy sessions, fittings for leg braces, and a series of wheelchairs that seem to grow larger with each passing year, not to mention those precious milestones like first words and first friends.
Opening TimeHop is like pulling the lever on a slot machine. Will I be greeted with a heartwarming memory of all three children holding hands during a wagon ride last spring? Or will I be taken back to a NICU room where my son spent the first two months of his life in an incubator? Maybe I’ll see a snapshot of him standing proudly with his physical therapist, or perhaps I’ll relive the moment we waited at the pediatrician’s office, anxiously watching him play with toy trains while we awaited a pneumonia diagnosis. The gamble is almost not worth it.
Almost. Because sometimes, TimeHop offers clarity that calms my racing thoughts. My son has never adhered to a typical developmental timeline. He recognized the alphabet before he could articulate his first words, and he identified colors and musical notes before he took his first steps. He, like many children with special needs, is a kind of time traveler.
It’s crucial to remember that we cannot confine them to standard developmental charts. They are quantum-leapers, moving through life in unpredictable ways, like wormholes in the universe that grant them access to experiences and insights beyond our everyday logic.
This is why TimeHop is a fundamental part of my morning routine. It provides a stark reminder of our journey, helping me resist the urge to look enviously at the conventional developmental milestones. It reinforces my belief that there is a unique pattern to this chaos — one that leads to something magnificent. If I let it, TimeHop reminds me that both recent and distant memories carry messages of hope. But first, I need my coffee.
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In summary, while Facebook’s TimeHop brings a mix of nostalgia, joy, and sometimes heartache, it serves as a vital reminder of our unique journey. Embracing these memories helps me appreciate the extraordinary path we are on, even amidst the daily chaos.