As I was tucking Suzie into bed tonight, I leaned over to kiss her goodnight. She giggled, and the buried her head in her pillow, and whispered, "too late." She was gone for the night.
Walking out of her room, I had a flashback to a thousand different things when she was younger. Now that she is heading towards double digits in age, and I think, with some things, I am "too late." I don’t want to be "too late" for anything with them.
We are no longer the family with "little ones" or babies, or crawlers of toddlers or walkers, cruisers or whatever else they call the saggy bottom stage.
We are now closer, but not quite there, to "tweens" and pre-teens and middle school, and changing bodies, and lots of changing minds, and changing clothes, and "c’mon Dad, everyone will be there…"
It has happened in the blink of an eye. I realize that Suzie and Kenzo are closer to the age of driving a car than they are to being driven home from the hospital as babies, and that makes me a little bit sad.
But it also makes me all the more committed to being involved and in touch and in every part of their lives before it is "too late."
If I am too late, it will be too bad, for me.