Turning Seven

Celebrating my kids' birthdays has become increasingly bittersweet.

I love planning the party, sending out the invitations, and preparing for a special day, which is all very fun and exciting.  But it all adds up to one more year farther away from childhood.

My second child, Clara, turned seven today.  She was born at 2:00 AM seven years ago, from a textbook pregnancy, labor and delivery.  Her most distinguishing features when she was born were her large bright blue eyes and her hint of red hair on her almost bald head.  She was a sweet baby, easily pacified with her ever ready thumb, and her favorite pink blankie.

The years have gone by so incredibly fast, and one can't help but look back with some pride and some regrets. Sorry, I guess I always feel a little melancholy at birthdays.

Danny and I started a birthday tradition a couple of years ago that we'd heard from a homeschooling mom.  On each child's actual birthday, we take them out for a special, one-on-one dinner date with mom and dad.  The child gets to choose the restaurant and dessert place.  

So Clara chose to go to a local Italian eatery that also serves sushi (I know, weird, but it's really good, and more importantly, california rolls are Clara's favorite).  I dragged along my sad feelings of time whirling by too fast along with my huge purse.  We sat at a nice little table, complete with glass goblets for the water and fabric napkins.  Clara was impressed.  

As we started looking at the menus, and my fears began to make my brain start counting down the years I had left with Clara until she morphs into a teenager (5, by the way), I glanced up and watched as she acted the part of a perfectly wonderful 7 year old.  She asked about what each fork and spoon was for, "Why two forks, mom?"  She slurped her drink, cracked jokes, and made endless silly faces.  The more serious the question we asked her, the more goofy her response.  She jumped out of her seat at one point, did a silly dance, then ran over to give Danny an impromptu hug.  

My heart finally stopped fluttering.  So my Clara is a year older.  She's seven, not seventeen.  And I vow to savor that seventeenth birthday as much as I savored seven.  Time is so fleeting, and children spend their days growing, so it's time to live and love, not wallow in what was.  What IS is just right.