This was one of the first essays I wrote as a mother. It was picked to be part of an online collection of essays three years ago, but I thought of it today as I was looking at schools for my 2nd little guy.

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Just give me a minute. Mommy needs a minute. I need to finish making these phone calls. Can you wait a few minutes until I’m done with this last bit of writing? Maybe you can look at your books while I get this done? Please, just give me a second to think. I just need a little bit of time, and, in a few minutes, I will be able to help you with that. Can that wait? Do you really need my help?

Maybe it came too easy, to put off my son’s requests for my time. But the words tumbled out, sometimes before he even asked, and I tried to shove in one more activity before I quickly helped him build the Lego tower or fashion a suitcase out of a cardboard box and duct tape for his collection of coupons.

That is the life of a mother, always squeezed for time. And life has to happen. So it is not the offense of making him wait that bothers me; there has to be balance and I need to get things done. The sadness I have is that sometimes time ran out. Sometimes I halfheartedly listened. And, sometimes, precious moments slipped past while I wasn’t even looking.

This year, my son went into a bigger world. Late summer came, and I drove him to elementary school. He stumbled out of the car, pulled his book bag up onto his back, and shut the car door with a bang. I watched him walk away, without me, through the glass double doors and into his new life as a Kindergartner. And I sat and stared, letting him go.

I told myself I was impervious to the stereotypical first day of school crying. But my heart had other ideas. Instead of tears pouring down my cheeks, my heart cried with the sadness of a mother who realized time had passed too quickly.

As I sat in the car, my mind rewound to the events leading up to the moment. I pictured my son’s first steps, toddling from my hands to my husband’s, weaving from the safety of one parent to the hands of another where he could safely land. Next I saw him walking through the snow when he was two years old, his first trip out in his bulky snowsuit. He tumbled through the thick, fluffiness of the remnants of a mid-winter storm; he moved away from me, off to play with his sled. Soon he was off to preschool, where I took him to the door and watched him walk down the hallway into a new adventure. And then I remembered him pedaling down our driveway this summer, riding without training wheels and not even looking back. I stood in awe, watching him pedal his heart out, knowing he could do it, but amazed that it was happening.

When he walked into elementary school, I knew it marked another milestone. He was no longer such a little boy. And now, I wish I had known sooner how fast the early years of my child’s life would pass.

What would I have done differently if I knew then what I know now?

Maybe I would have laughed, played, loved a few more times then I did. Kissed more and yelled less. Watched and listened without being distracted. Would I have soaked up the moments more fully if I had known?

Maybe we just naturally have a lack of appreciation for the present – I suffered from this problem even before I had children. Didn’t I under appreciate my pre-pregnancy body? Didn’t I take for granted my solitary days when I could wonder through a bookstore without worrying about a babysitter or someone asking if they could buy something, anything, please mommy! We usually don’t appreciate something until it’s gone, right?

So I think about the lack of appreciation for those early days of childhood, and wish I had known how much I would miss them once they were gone.

How many times did I wish my son would just start talking? Or go on the potty? Or just learn how to tie his shoes? I was pushing him toward a necessary independence from me. I just wish I had looked up more during the way and had not rushed through the moment.

And now, I just want a bit of it back. A minute of being in the rocking chair holding his little baby body, singing the songs that would make his eyelids close. Or a chance to hear those toddler words that only I could decipher. I wish I could have a chance just see him run around the house in his father’s shoes once again, tripping as he sped around and giggling as he ran away.

Of course, I don’t want to sound like it was perfect. There were the moments I would never ever want to revisit, like the time my son shoved a tissue so far up his nose I had to use tweezers to get it out. But, just the same, those moments were the antics of a baby or toddler, and distance from them gives me the opportunity for lots of good laughs now. Okay, maybe I’ll never be able to laugh about the time he threw up on the Capital Beltway.

But the progression from baby to toddler to little boy is fast.

My son’s childhood is far from over. He is only five. I have plenty of time to enjoy our time together journeying through this part of his life, and I know we will enjoy all of the things being a little boy has to offer.

However, those early days, when children grow in leaps and bounds, develop the functions that will carry them through life, when their little eyes stare up at you and see nothing but perfection, well, those days are to be enjoyed.

Today, I will trek off to pick up my son from Kindergarten. He will walk out of the school and up to my car, tired and unwilling to say more than “hey.” I will wait a little while, until we are home and after snack has been eaten, and then he will talk and I will listen. We will share the events of the day and enjoy this new stage of his life together.