My Five Year Plan

My Five Year Plan

Last week, the Southern Festival of Books was held in Nashville, which I forgot to sign up for because the deadline fell shortly after my daughter’s birth. This week, I also received an invitation to visit with some author friends at a restaurant in Nashville. I had to decline because I’d already cashed in my weekly babysitting chips, and it was my turn to take my three-year-old to dance class.

My husband said, “In five years, it’s all going to be different. In five years, they’re all going to be in school, and you’ll have time to work and write.”

When he told me this, I stood at the sink, stunned. I had to run some figures through my head because I couldn’t believe that the babe-in-arms, who likes to jingle my bib overall straps while I type, would be entering school in that amount of time. But he was right. In five years, I’ll have a 10 ½ year old, an eight-year-old, and a five-year-old.

In five years, I will no longer be woken up at night. I will no longer lift a baby from the crib and nurse her, almost falling asleep before it’s time to pat her back. I will no longer be changing diapers. I will no longer use diaper wipes to clean my children’s faces, wipe down the toilet, detail my minivan, clean up splatters of spit-up from my shoes and the floor. In five years, I will be able to eat a meal with two hands. I will be able to stay out “late” (after 9) without wondering if I will pay for it when the baby wakes me up at midnight and again at 3 a.m.

In five years, I will be able to attend book festivals and go to Nashville to meet author friends. Between 7:45 and 2:45, I will be able to work without stopping every five minutes to dress a doll, pull a costume over my daughter’s head, assemble a baby doll play pen, break up fights, wipe bottoms, identify if the snail shell my eldest found is empty or not.

In five years, everything will change.

Yesterday, at my three-year-old’s dance class, I watched her on the monitor while juggling my five-month-old in her carrier. All week, she looks forward to dance class and will beg to put on her pink leotard for hours before it’s time to go. But she freezes once her class–composed of pot-bellied little toddlers–trots upstairs.

But I watched her. For close to thirty minutes, I watched her on the edges as the rest of the class crawled through clear tunnels and tiptoed and moved in a circle that could just as easily resemble a square. My daughter was always on the outskirts, always watching, but never really joining in.

Then, toward the end, the lights flicked off and the music swelled. My three-year-old picked up a bright yellow scarf and began to twirl around and around and around, joining in with her peers. It was so beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes.

In five years, everything will change. That’s really not a lot of time.

How do you remain focused on the now, even while also looking ahead?