How strange time is.
I wrote recently on Instagram about how fickle ‘time’ seems to be. A strange commodity — always the same amount of seconds in a minute, minutes in an hour. But when you’re wishing and waiting for something, time drags it’s heels and takes on a much different pace than when you’re busy and happy.
I remember trying to fall pregnant so vividly.
Each month seemed longer than the last.
Time was governed a small window of opportunity; the four hallowed days when I was ovulating. Then rudely punctuated by the appearance of Aunt Flo; which signified the end of another cycle.
A very visual reminder that our wishes hadn’t been granted on that occasion.
Time was a spiteful old woman. Sneering at me. Slowing her pace and making me despair that I’d never be a mama.
And then we were lucky.
Mother Nature smiled kindly on me and time changed tempo again.
The first 13 weeks of my pregnancy with the twins was agonisingly slow. Each day seemed like an eternity.
And even after we’d had the scan to say that the babies were doing well — and they had good, strong heartbeats — it didn’t really quicken the pace.
I think I only started to fully relax when I reached 27 weeks and my babies were classed as ‘viable’. I breathed a sigh of relief and time seemed to do the same. It swung into a normal rhythm for the first time in years.
Then my loves were born. And literally, from that day to this, time dropped a couple of gears and sped up.
All the firsts, all the twin milestones.
Then last Wednesday we went to our little village school for their first settling-in session.
How can my tiny boys be going to school already? I’ve only got 11 weeks and 4 days of them to myself. I know I already share them with nursery but school is a different animal altogether.
This is where they’ll learn to be without me. And it makes my stomach tighten and my eyes sting.
I’m not ready to let them go just yet.