You’re Still Gonna Be My Baby
Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil:
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen. Matthew 6:9-13 KJV
You just don’t know how quickly the time passes. They tell you, those older folks – but when you are in it, the days of diapers and complete dependency seem like they will last forever. I remember feeling like I was drowning in responsibility and exhaustion. I remember daydreaming of what two weeks of nothing to do could possibly feel like. Heaven, I imagined.
I loved my two children to death, but wow… juggling being the best mother ever and carrying a full load of high expectations at work and remodeling our house while living in it and having absolutely no family living anywhere nearby was – a lot.
My mother would travel down for a few days when we both had work out of town. But the unexpected fever or the last-minute long hours would do me in. I can see Teina now, intercepting me as I came out of a meeting saying, “Go in the back and pull yourself together. I will fix you a nice cup of tea and we will be waiting for you when are ready in the conference room.” The people who worked for me drove my minivan to pick up the kids from daycare. (Thank you, Lisa Bilek.) They photocopied my children’s hands on the copy machine to amuse them. (Thank you, John Doliner.) They had keys to my house. I was spread thin.
And then today, decades later, I think how wonderful the day is; a perfect 74-degree fall day as Jeff and I paint the house exterior (yes, this same house we started remodeling 35 years ago). I am on the ladder, trimming the windows outside the hallway which leads to what once was the children's rooms when I hear a song playing on our speakers that I have never heard before. It is exactly the style of female singer-songwriter folk music I love. The melody is beguiling, the singer's voice raw and transparent.
Before I know it, tears are streaming down my face and I have parked my paintbrush and grabbed my phone to Shazam the song. I am done painting. I am a mess of 1990 and picturing myself carrying my boy baby from my bedroom to his as I ask his two-year-old self, "Will you carry me like I am carrying you when you are big and I am small?" I know there is a photograph of me somewhere in all the boxes of photos with him on my hip, his pacifier in my mouth for safekeeping, my face young and unlined, my hair long.
When did it happen? When did he grow up and beyond me?
And here’s the thing: I don’t know why I am crying. Is it because these two perfect children grew up and grew out of their shoes and out of their beds and out of this house – to become perfectly beautiful adults in their own shoes and in their own beds and in their own homes? Or is it because I never taught them the Lord’s Prayer?
Just listen to the song and you will understand.
So sitting here tonight as the sun’s last light turns the October sky orange and gray and hopefully, Jeff has washed my abandoned paintbrush, I say a prayer of gratitude. Those days of my children’s childhood were slipping wildly past and I was so unaware and so very out of control - but God rescued me. He rescued us. I think my son was six and my daughter three and God said, “I’ve got this.”
He came in with a church home and strangers who loved us in all our brokenness. Janet Fortenberry taught my son bible stories and Brenda Beadles promised to comfort my daughter who wouldn’t stop crying in the nursery while I attended church upstairs. In the sanctuary, I listened and rebelled in my spirit and challenged the kind pastor Bob Cargo. And it was all alright. They joined together to love me back to God.
That is why I cry. Life is precious. Each child I carried in my womb and in my arms is precious. Time is a thief who lingers too long and flees too quickly.
So let me tell you now: hold on. Don’t waste it. Each day, each moment is more temporary than you can know. So don’t let go. Hold on.
Some stories don’t have any deeper meaning than this;
“When you're my age
I hope the world is kinder
Than it seems to be right now
And I hope the front page isn't just a reminder
Of how we keep lettin' each other down
When I was your age, things didn't seem to be this hard
Riding bikes out on the street, playing tag in the back yard
You'll outgrow your shoes
You'll outgrow your bed
You'll outgrow this house
Just don't forget
When you're all grown up
But you don't feel that way
You're still gonna be my baby
Even when you're my age
When you have kids someday, I hope you teach them the Lord's Prayer
Before they go to bed at night
Like my daddy did for me and his mother before him
Well something about it just keeps you right
And I hope you don't work too much overtime
So you can be right there beside them when they close their little eyes
'Cause they'll outgrow their shoes
They'll outgrow their beds
They'll outgrow that house
And you can't stop it
Life will line your face
Time will turn the page
But they're still gonna be your babies
Just like you're still gonna be my babies
Even when you're my age
Even when you're my age”
When You're My Age Lori McKenna