The Days Are Long, The Years Are Short

Early parenthood has a way of stretching time so that it feels both eternal and instantaneous.

I love asking other parents whether the years since having kids have felt slow or fast. The answers are always split. I’m firmly in the “fast” camp, while my husband is in the “slow” camp. To him, life after kids feels far longer than it actually has been.

When you’re deep in the thick of it, the days can feel long. Between postpartum hormones, the shift in identity, and the tug-of-war between pure joy and parent guilt, the hours can weigh heavy. Whether you're a mom or a dad, the exhaustion is real, and a single bedtime routine can feel endless. We’ve all been there.

And yet, suddenly you notice how quickly everyone is growing. Those tiny hands won’t stay tiny. The very things that tire us today—the constant “why,” the messy faces, the broken sleep—are the milestones we’ll one day miss.

So hang on through the long afternoons and heavy moments. The years are moving much faster than the days suggest.

With that, I’ll leave you with this poem by Brad Anderson.

Can I Carry You?
by Brad Anderson

I guess that I can hold you
one more time before you grow
and tell you that I love you
so that you will always know.

Please let me tie your shoe again.
One day you'll tie your own.
And when you think back to this time,
I hope it's love I've shown.

Can I help you put your coat on?
Can I please cut up your meat?
Can I pull you in the wagon?
Can I pick you out a treat?

One day you might just care for me,
so let me care for you.
I want to be a part
of every little thing you do.

Tonight could I please wash your hair?
Can I put toys in the bath?
Can I help you count your small ten toes
before I teach you math?

Before you join a baseball team
can I pitch you one more ball?
And one more time can I stand near
to make sure you don't fall?

Let's take another space-ship ride
Up to the Planet Zoor.
Before our Cardboard Rocket
doesn't fit us anymore.

Please let me help you up the hill
while you're still too small to climb.
And let me read you stories
while you're young and have the time.

I know the day will come
when you will do these things alone.
Will you recall the shoulder rides
and all the balls we've thrown?

I want you to grow stronger
than your Dad could ever be.
And when you find success,
there will be no soul more proud than me.

So will you let me carry you?
One day you'll walk alone.
I cannot bear to miss one day
from now until you've grown.