Because Someday She Won't Let Me ...

Annabelle, Aurora, and I walked to the bakery in the center of Reading last Wednesday. We do that most Wednesdays, the weekday I had off for a lot of 2016 thanks to my company's progressive paternity leave policy. And every Wednesday, we have a similar conversation about the walk to the bakery.

Me: "Annabelle, do you want to go in the stroller?"

Annabelle: "No."

Me: "Do you want to walk on your own?"

Annabelle: "No. I wanna go on ya head."

Me: "The stroller would make it much easier. Are you sure you don't want to get in there? It'll make us faster."

Annabelle: "I wanna go on ya head, Daddy!"

And on my head she goes. Well, on my shoulders, to be specific. And we walk the mile and change into town that way, with Annabelle bouncing around on my shoulders as I maneuver the sizable stroller through the town streets. Annabelle gets down, selects her cookies (or cupcake or, sometimes, on special occasions, both), eats said sugary treat, and then hops back on my head for the mile-and-change walk home. She gets off my head, climbs up the stairs, sometimes says, "My legs are so tired," laughs, and goes into our house.

And I let out a sigh of relief. My neck, almost always, hurts a bit afterwards. (It is, after all, a 35-pound weight jostling around on my neck for about 45 minutes.) My back is a little sore because I have to duck several times so Annabelle won't hit her head. There are several hills. On the way home, I'm usually balancing an iced coffee for Bridget, too, just to add a little icing to my sympathy cake.

Why do I do it? Bridget asks while I rub my neck after every walk. "Just have her sit in the carriage or walk ..."

My answer: Because someday she won't let me.

That may seem silly, but I think about it all the time. Annabelle is already 3 and has grown out of lots of things. She hasn't napped on my chest in years, rarely sits on anyone's lap, and actually kicks us out of her bed after we read her bedtime stories now.

So when she lets me do things, even things I don't necessarily like, I try to remind myself to enjoy every minute of them.

"Yes, I'll watch that episode of Doc McStuffins with you for the 83rd time ..."
"That puzzle again? Sure, of course ..."
"Okay, six more big hugs even though it's 45 minutes past your bedtime ..."

Because someday she won't let me. She won't let me watch TV with her. She won't want to do puzzles with me. She won't want me to tuck her in.

It makes me sad, but it's reality. It's part of parenting.

After more than three years of this parenting thing, I've learned that there are dizzying highs and gut-wrenching lows. There are joyful hours, frustrating minutes, and infuriating moments. And everything changes. Constantly. But, looking back, oddly enough, the moments that seem the worst at the time are often the memories that stick with you and make you smile. The diaper blowout that went, literally, everywhere. The tantrum in front of the post office. The dinner of four Cheez-Its, half a yogurt, and two candy canes.

Will my neck hurt for a while after our "walks"? Will my back be sore? Will my shoulders ache? Of course. So what? Hop on up, Annabelle. It's time to go to the bakery. And let's get moving because time is catching up to us ...